Only You
by Hamiltrash282
Summary: Written by Hamiltrash282 and coldinmyprofessions1754, the former writes for Alex and the latter for John. Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens both go to a New Jersey boarding school, but that's about all they have in common. John has no trouble confirming his feelings when he befriends Alex; Alex has a growing addiction to coffee.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Alexander Hamilton

Alexander Hamilton is not known for his sentimental thoughts. At least I hope I'm not, but honestly, what do I know about myself anymore? When could I ever have predicted that I would call myself an American despite having neither a green card nor a clue? But here I am, standing tall at the entrance to my new high school, marveling in its prestige. Yes, it is just another New Jersey high school, but it is my New Jersey high school. My cafeteria, my rambling teachers, my stereotypical high school drama. If that even happens in real life, which I doubt. Nevertheless, high school is my opportunity to prove myself even before the trials of college. I resolve to myself, eyes squeezed shut to halfway shield me from the busy atmosphere, that my last two years at high school will not go to waste.

The first thing I notice about the school is its smell. Goddamn, I'm sounding more and more like a fucking children's novel every day. Well, not quite the smell as much as my hunger for what's being cooked. The mini pancakes covered with sugary syrup are nothing like my late mother´s Caribbean meals, but they send a delightful smell wafting throughout the school this morning. Fingers clutching the strap of my messenger bag, I stare out into the abyss of chaos. It's a boarding school, not a public school, but the students seem to be held to no standards.

I don't really know what I was expecting. I wasn't left much time to imagine the first day between a flight to New York and then to New Jersey, so the school climate is entirely new to me. There are teenagers with colored hair, bad acne, and even a few, both male and female, who look like they belong in an Urban Outfitters ad more than a school. There are bodies streaming in from the doors all around me - some carrying books, some with fingers wrapped around handles of suitcases, and others somehow balancing enormous stacks of papers. If you look past the fist-bumps, massive groups of teen girls with long hair, and football jerseys, it would seem like a prestigious academy. I speculate that must say something significant about the workload, which would be a total letdown for most people, but I've been through tough shit.

I gingerly make my way from the front doors to the freshly waxed door of the main office. Yes, it is the first day of school for everyone, but I am starting in a school I have never been to before in a country I've never even lived in for more than a week. What a fucking recipe for disaster.

"Excuse me, Mrs…" I glance down at her green and tan laminated name tag. "Langdon?"

She looks up to shoot me a cold stare, leaving me wondering if her pet hamster drowned or if the coffee in the staff lounge was just especially bitter. Which gets me thinking about how she seems like the kind of person who would either drink coffee really sour and disgusting or super creamy and sugary. There is no in between. I imagine that my face must be mirroring my thoughtfulness or amusement because suddenly she's clearing her throat.

"Is there something you need, young man?"

"Yes, actually. I'm a new student here… Alexander Hamilton. I need my schedule."

Her scowl grows, but she leans over to print something and less than a minute later hands me a piece of paper. I give up on deciphering the room numbers after a moment, so I study the subjects and teachers' names. French first with Madame Bernard, followed by Biology and then Statistics. That's quite enough for my brain to handle during these first few hours of the school day. After that is lunch, also known as hellhole on earth, where clearly labeled cliques assemble at long plastic tables while they participate in their designated activity. Or so I heard from the Mean Girls movie I watched on the way to New Jersey.

I am able to exit the main office before Mrs. Bitter Coffee gets too pissed at me, find my French classroom, and take a seat in the middle of the room all before the bell rings. It's an accomplishment I would celebrate with a high-five with my tall, tan, muscular best friend who wears a T-shirt that advertises his summer break. That is, if I had such a best friend. I do not have any friends. None.

As one could infer from my friendless situation, I scan the room, evaluating each student. The first one that catches my eye is a long-legged, giggling African American girl. She seems to be the tallest girl in the class, and if she weren't wearing an olive green dress, I could vividly imagine her shooting a basketball into a hoop. She has her backside delicately perched on the edge of a chair as she chats animatedly with her friends. My eyes linger on her dimpled face for a moment before scouring the room once more for someone more remarkable. A male student with roughly the body type of a football player inches his fingers onto the desk of the person next to him, who smugly smirks at the teacher. The proud boy notices the fingers inhabiting his desk and glances up at their owner, whose eyes dart around once they make contact with his classmate's.

The second bell rings just as the teacher begins to speak, and she raises her voice above it instead of pausing. She speaks French quickly, informally, and without very good diction. I am able to pick up some words from her monologue, but other than the smug boy, the entire class seems fucking baffled. This is an 11th-grade class; you'd assume the students would have some understanding of the language. Apparently, in the United States of America, education starts from scratch every year.

John Laurens

From every high school movie I have seen, the teen narrating made it out to be living hell. Everything from "Clueless" to "Heathers" highlights the drama and stress and hormones raging out of control. They are all stories of girls trying to make each other's lives hell while all the miserable victim wants is love. Movies like this are horribly stereotyped and entirely untrue, at least to the best of my limited knowledge. But walking up the marble steps to the iron door of my boarding school, I reflect back on the movies. My mind conjures up the worst case scenarios: derogatory terms and foul language scrawled on the bathroom walls, teachers loading hours of homework on the first day, and shameless bullying throughout. I press my headphones closer and walk through the heavy doors.

French class is a madhouse. I recognize most of the faces from last year but either no one remembers me, or they don't care enough to take pity on the boy sitting alone at the back of the class. A tall girl in an olive green dress giggles with her friends and casts longing glances toward the door. Two boys suspiciously survey teens sitting in molded plastic chairs. A boy sitting close to the front stairs smugly at the teacher with a look on his face that makes me want to strut over and slap the smirk away. All of them I know but I can't place a name to.

The teacher clears her throat and raises her lilting voice over the announcements. I notice the tall girl straining to make out the crackling words and another brown haired boy blatantly ignoring them. The smug boy is still smirking. French has never been my best subject and it's a struggle to translate the monologue into something I can understand. Most students look hopelessly lost and their faces must reflect the confusion mirrored on my own. Madame Bernard looks at us expectantly and the smug boy's hand goes flying into the air. She waves him away and the crestfallen boy slumps back into his seat. She speaks again, in English this time.

"Get with a partner, before we continue." She sounds bored, and rightfully. I pity her if she has to deal with classes as shitty as us all day. It seems that the only student who had any idea what she is saying was the smug boy in front. He has a look on his face that plainly said, 'I don't need to be in this class but I am anyways' Friends begin to find each other and drift away from their mock-wooden desks. Two girls on the other side of the room squeal and clasp hands. And I find myself drifting as well. I did make friends last year, a few at least. But Hercules is already chatting with the smug boy and has a grin comparable only to the Cheshire Cat on his face. I approach a boy standing alone by a pair of kids looking longingly at them. His hair is long, almost shoulder length, and drawn back in a ponytail. I stand behind him for a moment and when he shows no sign of noticing me, I clear my throat. He turns slowly, leisurely, like he's bored just at the thought of me. I don't recognize him. His is one of the few faces that is entirely unfamiliar to me.

"It looked like you didn't have a partner." I smile warmly, hoping to make a good first impression.

"I hadn't noticed," the boy responds, his mouth in a half-smirk.

"Erm…" I examine his face closely. He has pretty eyes. Eyes that make me want to keep looking. I must look like a fool, red-faced, searching in vain for a response that doesn't sound as dippy as I feel.

"I'm Alex," His smirk hasn't disappeared.

"John," I introduce myself. "Are you-"

My question is cut short by the teacher striving to draw our attention back to her. She begins talking rapidly but upon seeing the student's looks of confusion she slows her pace and overemphasizes syllables. An inaudible whisper from my right alerts me once again to Alex's presence.

What? I mouth. He whispers again, louder, translating her directions into English.

"Tell your partner three things you did over the summer. Don't forget to conjugate. Some other bullshit no one really cares about." My eyes waver from Alex to Madame Bernard then back again. I smile at him and nods as if to say, It's no problem.

"Hmm… Je suis venu ici des Antilles. J'ai pris l'avion pour la première fois. Et… J'ai bu beaucoup plus de café que je n'aurais dû."

I listen carefully, picking out the words I know and translating them as best as I can with my limited knowledge of the language. My translation is faulty, but I do manage to get the gist of his sentences.

"Interesting! I've ne- I mean… Je n'ai jamais vraiment aimé le café. Three things... Visité a mis abuelos en Carolina del Sur," I begin. The corners of my mouth twitch up a bit in the pride I've salvaged from translating a sentence into French.

"John. That's Spanish," Alex says, staring at me with no compassion.

"Shit, sorry, J'ai visité mes grands-parents en Caroline du Sud…"

Madame Bernard claps her hands twice. "Very good, although I did hear some espagnol." My eyes flick toward Alex and I see him looking at me, suppressing laughter. It takes only seconds for the two of us to burst into hysterics.

"Boys!" Her voice is shrill and chastising and it only makes Alex laugh harder. Other students begin to join us with nervous little giggles.

The classroom door opens and we snap to attention, the lingering giggles slowly dying out. A petite girl with perfectly straight hair peeks her head around the edge of the polished oak wood. Madame Bernard catches a glimpse a folded list in her hand and her face brightens. She must know this girl, for she looks ecstatic to see her.

"Ms. Schuyler!" The girl cautiously steps into view her eyes are locked on a face close to me. Alex is smiling radiantly at her and she seems to enjoy it. To enjoy him. Her eyes are blue, the bluest I've ever seen. Like the color of a cloudless summer sky. And her dark hair frames her face almost perfectly. She takes the seat next to Alex, two desks away from me, and his eyes follow her.

She picks up the lesson, speaking in perspicuous french. The blue-eyed girl, although lacking the confident smirk of the smug boy, clearly discerns Madame Bernard's words. And Alex has yet to look away from her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey readers! Welcome to chapter 2 of Only You! I am so grateful to have all 30-something of you looking at my story. Thanks for checking it out! Since I am the kind of person who thrives when given attention, please leave a review! Also: this story is co-written by my lovely and talented friend coldinmyprofessions1754. Anyway, ENJOY THE STORY!_

CHAPTER 2

Alexander Hamilton

The next class on my list is biology taught by Mr. Clarkwood. The hallways are mostly uninteresting except for the occasional school club flyer. I stop to read them a few of them, noting the more interesting ones - an application for National Honor Society, a competitive cooking club advertisement, a colorful poster encouraging students to sign up for the school talent show. A group of students passes me in the hallway, laughing and talking loudly. They all wear the same black and white flannel with a symbol on the collar, and I briefly wonder if they're in a gang. It's probably just a trend.

I don't realize why I'm the only one walking into the biology classroom until the bell rings. John is seated in the back of the room behind a dark blue table. I take the empty seat next to him and shift my attention to the pacing teacher. He has only one patch of grey hair on his otherwise bald head, and his voice is so gravelly and thin I imagine he's at least lived through World War II. I can barely understand a word he's saying through his thick German accent, but he's trying his best to get the message across, waving his wrinkled hands and spitting small amounts of saliva out of his mouth.

John seems uncomfortable like he doesn't know what the fuck is going on but wishes to, so I write him a note with my mechanical pencil. The lead scrapes out a strong black line dotted with powder before it snaps off. I push my thumb against its eraser, check to see if the teacher is looking in my direction, and finish writing my message. I ask John which dormitory he has. He reads the note, scribbles a short reply, and folds it up again. I check my schedule to see my own and realize it matches what he's written. Great, I've already talked to one person at this school.

Before long, I notice that Eliza, too, is in this class. Even she slouches in her chair, blatantly disinterested with what the teacher is explaining. Her polka-dotted button-up shirt folds over on itself where her torso bends. Her black skirt fans across her thighs, spreading its fabric out to the edges of her chair. She sits with her pink lips slightly open and her chin propped up on her fist. Her hand distorts her cheek and pushes her eye almost closed, revealing blue eyeshadow coloring her eyelids. I can't bring myself to turn my gaze from her perky nose, wide cheekbones, and ice blue eyes.

The bell rings after only a few paragraphs of accented English barely anyone appears to understand. As I shuffle out of the classroom behind John, I hear snippets of Eliza's conversation with another girl.

"What a bullshit teacher. If he really knew what he was talking about he would actually make sure we could too." Eliza laughs, light and airy, and I can picture a dimple forming just below her cheek.

After leaving the classroom and entering another one with no familiar faces, I sit down in a seat at an empty table in the back of the classroom. A boy with a newsboy cap and a black and white flannel with a hood and drawstrings strides in confidently and sits down the chair next to me. Another boy follows him closely and wears the same black and white pattern with a grey beanie on his head. The final member of their group is a long-haired, red-lipped girl wearing a sweater that hangs off one shoulder and ripped black jeans underneath. Two of them are wearing the flannel as the students I passed in the hallway, and the girl seems to be part of the group without wearing it. I recognize the two boys from my French class - the smirking boy had his flannel tied around his waist and the other boy had it hung over the back of his chair.

"Is it okay that I'm sitting here?" I only ask because they seem like the kind of people to have a designated table in every classroom. The girl laughs, causing her long, wavy hair to bob up and down.

"Yes, of course. We don't have assigned seats. And besides, you were here first."

We listen to the lesson without talking, but I can tell that the kids at my table are not paying full attention. They keep glancing over at another table and nudging each other. I turn my gaze to follow theirs and see a tall, African American teenager wearing a ridiculously obnoxious magenta tracksuit. As soon as he notices our stares, he swivels his body around and pushes a hand through his afro, middle finger in the lead. The girl holds up both middle fingers, blunt and unafraid of the statistics teacher whose empty eyes have no target.

I glance at the watch on my wrist and determine that it's 12:30. The bell rings, right on time, and the students seem to be especially excited for lunch because they stream out of the classroom like minnows trying to escape your grasp in the water. I make my way to the cafeteria without rushing too much. As far as I know, there is no penalty for being late to lunch, and who do I have to sit with anyway? The one boy I talked to in French? The girl who laughed at my question and could possibly be part of a gang?

The noise in the cafeteria could rival a hurricane. There are perhaps one hundred different tables, circular, rectangular, or square, all lined up in rows throughout the room, Large windows covering one wall reveal a courtyard where some students, perched on benches, eat their food or look at their computers. I begin to walk towards the door until a hand apprehends me.

"Hey." I recognize the boy by his freckles and brown eyes.

"Oh, hi."

John releases my arm and folds his hands behind his back. "Do you want to sit at this table with us?" He gestures to a nearby rectangular table where the black and white flannel kids are sitting. He isn't wearing the flannel, but neither is the girl from statistics, so I don't doubt that they are his friends. Eliza is at the table too, though she leaves some space between her and the others. She is engaged in a conversation with the same girl she talked to at the end of biology. The girl wears a flannel, shorts, and a crop top and has the same eyes as Eliza. Damn, it would be really helpful if I knew their names.

Eliza lets her eyes stray from her friend to meet mine. The corners of her mouth tilt up into a smile that seems to be just for me. I nod at her with a half-smile, but she's already focused her attention on the other girl. As her eyes open wider and she throws her head back in a fit of laughter, I notice that Eliza Schuyler is more than pretty.

John Laurens

I am sandwiched between two students, both clad in the black and white flannel that seem to be regalia for the group huddled around the lunch table. Hercules has one toned arm around my shoulders and he's doubled over in laughter over some comment made by a boy I recognize from first period, the smug boy I believe, although his smirk has vanished by now. And Peggy sits on my other side. Her wild hair has been tamed enough to cooperate with being in a ponytail, out of her face for once, and she has laced colorful flowers carefully into the curls. Even though the table comfortably fits our whole group the chairs have been scattered haphazardly around the patterned plastic. A girl in an off-the-shoulder red sweater has turned hers backward and now sits with her arms folded atop the chair and her chin resting on her wrists.

Peggy and I have been friends since the beginning of last year. Good friends. I don't remember why, I was probably struggling with vague directions given by Madame Bernard, but she approached me. Being the lost and alone sophomores the two of us were we became fast friends. She takes my hand, probably because she notices the blank look that has overtaken my face, and gives it a squeeze.

"Jacky," Her voice practically drips concern but also holds a note of seriousness that makes me turn to look at her. I smile and it reaches my eyes. It's a genuine smile that customarily only Peggy can draw from me. I steal a glimpse of Alex's face, or rather, the side of his head. He's caught up in a conversation with the blue-eyed girl. I stand and clear my throat. Nine pairs of eyes follow me and conversation fades.

"I'm not sure how many of you know his name so I'll just…" my voice wavers and I look at Alex. His warm brown eyes are fixed on me, just like the entirety of the group but somehow his gaze grants me more pleasure than the rest.

"Alex moved here this summer. Make him feel at home," Heat rushes to my face and I fall back onto the molded plastic chair between Peggy and Hercules once more. All at once the silence collapses into a deafening clammer as each and every occupant of the table squabbles over who is most deserving of Alex's attention. He looks at me with an expression that begs for my help and I almost laugh at the pitiful sight. The one who seems to be winning the quarrel is the blue-eyed girl. I recognize her. Her features vaguely resemble Peggy's. Soft. Rounded. Beautiful. No wonder she's captured Alex's eye.

"Jack?" Peggy says my name again in that same tone that drips concern and seriousness. She wants my undivided attention. It's not the first time she's used this tone with me. I give it to her, prying my eyes away from Alex and the blue-eyed girl and the group pressing closer and closer to them. She opens her mouth to continue her declaration. Only a word in, she's brought to a stop by a boy clad in magenta. He's wearing a tracksuit of all things. A deep magenta tracksuit that at a second glance appears to be made entirely of velvet. His wild afro has been pulled back into an unruly ponytail, completing the hideous ensemble. He's wearing a stick-on name tag. One of the kind that reads 'Hello my name is' in a neat font at the top with a large blank space for writing. The name is scrawled in messy handwriting. It's almost imperceptible but it seems to read something like Tnonos. Or more likely Thomas.

He holds himself proudly, in a way that makes me think he considers the nine of us beyond his notice. Like we're fickle beings, no more important than ants under his sneakers. He saunters around our table and comes to stop before a flannel costumed girl with eyes that replicate the blue-eyed girl.

"Hello…" he pauses as though the girl's name is at the tip of his tongue but he can't quite remember. "Susan?" Infuriated, she gets to her feet. He's unrivaled in height, comparable to no one at the table except maybe Hercules. And although the girl is tall, he dwarfs her.

"Angelica," she overemphasizes each syllable, using a voice like one you'd use with a small child. Condescending and terse.

"Ah. Angelica. That would've been my second guess. But I don't know… you look like a Susan. You just have the sort of vibe to you." Angelica. I've heard Peggy mention that name. Angelica and Eliza. Her two sisters. I've heard enough about them to feel as if I've known them for years but never had the pleasure to come face to face with the girls. I briefly wonder if the blue-eyed girl is Eliza. I have reason to justify it. All three have the same soft features contrary to the girl in red who possesses high cheekbones and full lips painted flawlessly scarlet.

"Fuck off, Jefferson," she sounds dejected but I won't press, I doubt anyone will inquire about her all too sudden defeat. The boy shrugs and ambles leisurely away. Now, I turn back to Alex and call his name. He gives me his full attention easily. I stand sluggishly and he follows suit, probably eager to get away from the group still vying for his attention. I beckon with one hand, hoping he'll get the message and follow me away from the group, but I don't look back as I start off towards the bathrooms.

Colorful flyers advertise clubs and other various extracurricular activities, and of course, I'd seen them plastered everywhere, but there seemed to be an abundance in the cafeteria. One orange flyer catches my eye. It depicts a group of five frozen in mid dab and music notes scattered around their heads. The bolded text at the top reads; **Back to School Dance!** accompanied by a few more music notes. It's unbearably cheesy, but it gives me an idea. I swivel around and it turns out Alex did follow me because he stands there, inches away, looking at me expectantly.

"Dance on Friday," I begin. He nods as a smile plays across his face. "Are you going?"

He nods again. He has yet to speak. I should ask him. I wonder if he'd agree to be my date or even just go as friends. If he rejected me I could play it off as a joke couldn't I?

"I just asked Eliza to go with me a few minutes ago!" He pipes up like a joyful little kid. He's so fucking oblivious. He doesn't seem to realize my motives or the way my face falls. He doesn't get how his words make my heart sink but his smile is so irresistible it's hard not to feel happy for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey loyal readers! We are so sorry for the delay (due to school), but we are back with another chapter! We are trying to post on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, but school may interfere and cause us to post later than planned. Thanks for the reads, follows, favorites, and reviews! Keep them coming!

CHAPTER 3

 _Alexander Hamilton_

Part of me keeps thinking, _How did you do that? Did it really happen?_ , and part of me has moved on and accepted it and is already looking forward. I would never have asked a girl to a dance back in Nevis - and not only because there weren't dances. I spent my entire childhood proving myself. I tried to prove myself to my father, but he left anyway. I proved to my mother that I was capable of handling numbers and writing things down and helping her, but she died. My last few years on the island were spent proving myself to my community. They deemed my writing more than satisfactory, and I got out of that hellhole.

Now I'm in New Jersey, with quite a few sort-of-friends and a pretty girl who's agreed to go to a dance with me. Perhaps I should not have asked her so soon. Not with the way the red-clad girl stares at her, and the way John's eyebrows fell heavy above his eyes, and especially not on the first day of school.

"History," John says firmly, grasping the piece of paper in front of him with both hands.  
"Me too."

"Greene?"

"Yes." John's smile grows, but after a second it twitches and returns to neutral.  
We walk, surrounded by the rest of the group, down the hallway. I feel slightly out of place, in the midst of students my age I've just met today, but mostly it's a good weird. As other students pass us, books in their arms, the kids in the posse nod at them. John stays by my side, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Did you grow up here?" I ask. His eyes widen and search my face, not expecting me to speak.

"No. My father… he got a job here, so we moved at the beginning of last year."

"I just have to ask," I say, lowering the volume of my voice as each word passes my lips. "Are they a gang?"

John doubles over laughing. "It does seem like that, doesn't it? No, they're not. It's a club - called Broken Hearts United. A bunch of them who have gotten their hearts broken started it for some reason. They tried to recruit me, but I never found a reason to join."

"Are you saying you have _never_ been brokenhearted?"

John shrugs, a smirk at his lips betraying his amusement. "Maybe I just don't feel the need to join a club about it." His mouth stays open like he wants to say something else, but then he squeezes his lips together.

One girl, the small one who was holding John's hand, breaks off from the clump with a pat on John's back and a wink aimed at all of us. The rest of the group files into the open door to the classroom. Thomas is here, too, manspreading on a chair turned backward in his magenta tracksuit. Angelica narrows her piercing blue eyes as soon as she catches sight of him, and he flashes her a crooked smile. Lafayette rolls his eyes, sticks his hands in his pockets, and claims the rectangular table in the back. Hercules stumbles into the chair next to him, and John pulls out two chairs at one end, inviting me to sit with him.

Maria slouches down into her chair as soon as the teacher begins to speak. Keeping her eyes glued to the teacher's face, she discreetly drags a piece of paper from across the table into her lap. Her eyes shift up and down as she scribbles out a sentence. A note slides over in my direction with no sound, and I pull it under the table before opening it.

 _I'm bored as fuck, please entertain me._ I stifle a laugh and sneak a glance at Maria, who looks back at me with an extremely bored expression.

 _FMK Eliza, John, Angelica._ The pencil scapes across the paper with a quiet scuffing noise and John turns to me with questioning eyes. I tilt the note in his direction and watch his face as he reads it. His eyebrows raise, skeptical, and he tears it from my hand. I hiss at him to give it back, but he only folds it and passes it to Maria.

 _I'm gay, so kill John. Marry Angelica. Fuck Eliza._

I nod thoughtfully and tuck the note into my breast pocket.

"Hello, wastes of space. How has your day been?" Thomas's voice is followed by groans and more than one angry middle finger.

"Got a lot worse now that you're here," Angelica replies in a sickly sweet tone paired with a sarcastic charming smile.

"Oh, and by the way, Angie, I'm so sorry for the mix-up earlier. You are so much prettier than a Susan." Thomas blows a kiss to Angelica, swings his hips, and pivots into a dramatic turn back to his table. The two boys sitting at his table stare forward with dismal expressions. One pulls out a handkerchief and sloppily blows his nose. The other reaches into his backpack for a book and pulls it out, his eyes focused on us the entire time.

Angelica utters a string of curses after Thomas, evidently not flattered by his compliment. Her hands ball into fists like she's about to walk over to him and throw a punch. The bell interrupts her rage, and she fixes her composure and calmly marches out of the room, the only sign of her anger being her clenched fists.

 _John Laurens_

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, passively. The two of us are sitting side by side on my bed. Alex and I. We've been like this for hours. Sitting there, enthralled in trivial conversation, and by now the clock on the window sill read 2:09 AM. I'm surprised he hasn't brought up the dance before now, judging by his obvious elation at Eliza's consent to accompany him. But once he started there was no stopping him. He rambled on about his plans and the way he pictured each moment and each phrase was another blow to my pride.

"Aw, c'mon! Take Peggy to the dance!" He says again.

I shake my head. I've already told him no. I wouldn't take my best friend on a date even if she would agree and I had any interest. He begins speaking again, probably listing the reasons Peggy and I would be the best couple on the face of the earth, but I'm not listening. I'm encapsulated by his eyes. He has lovely eyes, the color of the coffee he tells me he drinks excessively. They're warm and bright and full of passion and I'd like nothing more than to stare into them for hours. His tangent is cut short by the door opening as hushed whispers travel closer. Hercules' shadowed face emerges from the doorframe.

"You're up?" He looks surprised, but he quickly recuperates and invites himself into the room. Another hand seizes the door knob and the two boys traipse into the room.

The dorm is equipped for four. It consists of six rooms: a kitchen, four bedrooms, surprisingly comfortable for a highschool dormitory, and a bathroom. The bathroom sits between the four rooms and with the kitchen in front. It's convenient save for the inevitable fights over space. Hercules pads across the thickly carpeted floor and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. Alex peers down at him, almost amused, and purses his lips into the same half-smirk he greeted me with in French. The fourth of our party seats himself beside him. I've taken a liking to Lafayette. His smirk has vanished and his smug manner has been replaced but a genuinely likeable boy. Silence descends and the four of us stay like this. Stationary. The only sound is that of labored breathing. It's peaceful and I quite like the serenity but the quiet seems to itch at Alex, for he uncomfortably speaks up.

"Did you need something?" I sit back and the headboard creaks. The sound is low and piercing but the others pay no mind. Hercules nods but it's Lafayette who clarifies the nuance to their visit.

"Oui," smiling, the boy inches toward the bed. "We hoped the four of us could play some… er… get-to-know-you games." The two look at Alex and I expectantly like a pair of eagers kids who have been promised something of value.

"Truth or dare was my idea. What better way to get to know you roommates than to share your deepest darkest secrets?" His speaks tantalizingly, but there is some seriousness to his words.

"I'm in!" Alex slithers off my bed and settles himself across from Lafayette, leaning against the side of the mattress. His hands are in his lap and he, along with the other two, are looking at me, waiting for assent. They must have taken my silence for agreement because Hercules pipes up with the question to start the game.

"Lafayette, truth or dare?" I can't help but think how cliche this is, but I keep my mouth shut and listen.

"Truth," he answers in his thickly accented voice.

"I already know this, but just for Alex and John… Why did you join the club?" Lafayette stares blankly and for a moment I wonder if he'll actually answer him.

"Well, the club is for people who've been heartbroken by another, so it's obvious, isn't it? And no, I believe you actually don't know it," Alex's eyebrows shoot up in a way that plainly says, _Not quite_. Hercules doesn't seem fazed by the obvious cover-up and Lafayette quickly moves on.

"Alexander, truth or dare?"

His lips twist into a blatant smirk like he's taking the question as a challenge.  
"Dare."

Lafayette matches his egotistical smirk and leans in, speaking with an air of provocation.

"I dare you to kiss…" He looks from me to Hercules then back again. Seemingly unable to decide, he continues. "The most attractive person in the room."

Alex looks me straight in the eyes and holds my gaze for all of five seconds before advancing. He is so close… so painfully close. I scurry across my bed, my face burning with shame. Maybe I should've just let him kiss me because now all three are looking at me with concern, or maybe it's amusement, painted on their faces.

"Erm… wouldn't want to hurt Eliza would you?" I try to sound contrite or lighthearted but even to my own ears it just sounds plaintive.

"It wouldn't. And besides… it's not like she's my girlfriend." He looks almost sad, probably just disappointment from semi-public rejection. We sit there in silence with me staring at my hands and their eyes boring into the back of my head. Alex clears his throat and turns to Hercules.

The game continues on, but I'm only half listening. My mind has been overtaken by thoughts mostly around how Alex thinks I'm attractive, or at least the most attractive in the room, and how I swiveled away when he tried to kiss me. _Alex tried to kiss me_. Even if it was only on a dare it still flocks butterflies to the pit of my stomach just at the thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Honestly, I don't even know how I'm formatting things anymore. Here's another chapter! We'll try to get back on schedule soon. Feel free to comment what you think and share this story with your friends if you like it! Thank you for reading!**

CHAPTER 4

Alexander Hamilton

I probably should not have crawled over to John like a salamander on steroids not even a full twenty-four hours after asking Eliza to be my date. It was stupid, reckless, and impulsive, but in that moment, I was convinced that it was evident to everyone there that John was the most attractive. I now realize that it may have been only my own opinion, which has been revealed to Hercules, Lafayette, and John himself, but most importantly me. It doesn't mean anything huge - no one can compare to Eliza's baby blue eyes, not even a soft-lipped, shy-smiled, freckled boy. Elizabeth Schuyler, small as she is, has no competition.

I still don't completely understand why Hercules and Lafayette decided on truth or dare. Honestly, I thought it had died out once we graduated middle school. Apparently, the Broken Hearts United enjoy midnight truth or dare and wearing flannels that symbolize their pain. I think I could get used to this.

I wake up with a clamoring headache, yet I didn't drink at all last night. Perhaps staying up until the early morning of the second day of school was not a great choice. I can blame it mostly on Hercules and Lafayette, who busted into my room at midnight, but the rest of the accountability falls on myself. I was the one who kept John up, trying to convince him to ask Peggy to the dance. And I thought he had grown fond of me until he ducked away when I tried to kiss him.

John is sitting on a wooden stool with dark shadows under his eyes by the time I walk into the dorm's kitchen. It's so cramped the sight of it intensifies my headache, and the only thing I would possibly want to cook in here is ramen, which is exactly what John shovels into his mouth by the spoonful.

"Morning," John mutters. He doesn't meet my eyes, and I can tell that we are agreeing not to talk about last night. Before I have time to respond with a greeting of my own, the door opens by only a few inches.

"Is everyone decent?" A female voice shouts. We both confirm and Angelica steps into the room.

"Lafayette sent me here. Said you'd probably be late."  
"What time is it?" I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but it encapsulates it. I widen my eyes, form my mouth into a perfect "o" shape, and spread my fingers onto the clear surface of the table.

"Relax, new kid. Five minutes until class starts." Angelica holds open her flannel to expose a grey shirt that says "petty as fuck" and is very much against the dress code. She winks at both of us before she turns on her heel and leaves.

There's no time for me to eat breakfast in the dorm, and John assures me while we're jogging down a staircase that there is food in the cafeteria and he just really likes ramen. I get the feeling that he wishes he were in college.

The cafeteria amplifies the volume of the student body tenfold. The Broken Hearts United members stand on chairs, tables, and each other while Eliza reads a book at the far corner of the table. She grins when she sees me, and I don't even try to regulate the smile that spreads across my own face. John, hair unruly and uncooperative with its hairstyle, stumbles over and slumps down into an abandoned chair with a flannel hung on the back of it. He blinks forcefully a few times, trying to wake himself up, and I turn my head away.

"Good morning, Eliza," I say.

"Morning, Alex." I notice her hand on the table and take it in my own. She lifts her head from her book and sweetly smiles at me.

The bell rings, bringing chaos to the cafeteria. Students jump off of tables, drag their friends around, and start sprinting to class. Eliza and I walk together, hands intertwined, to Madam Bernard's French class. We stay in the back of the group headed in the same direction, following Lafayette, Hercules, and John. Eliza smooths a strand of ebony hair onto her head, and I can tell playing with her hair is her nervous habit. If she's nervous about me, that's okay. Because I'm also scared as hell about forming a bond with a pretty girl I met yesterday. I squeeze her hand, and I try to convey a message to her through the pressure - it's alright to be scared. We're both new at this.

The classroom remains the same as yesterday. The teacher - Madam Bernard - is as tall as ever with hair pulled tight into a bun and bright blue eyes behind narrow glasses. Her hands even look red from all that clapping to get our attention. She begins to speak - in French, of course - and although I understand every word, I have doubts about John. Eliza has a pleasant demeanor as she focuses her attention on the teacher. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see John's eyes wandering around the classroom, presumably finding it hard to concentrate on words he cannot decipher. I lean toward him, about to offer a translation, but he inches away without meeting my eyes.

John Laurens

The worst decision Alex made within the last 24 hours was gliding across the carpeted floor to me, and the worst decision I made was shying away from the kiss. The problem now is that he looks perfect. I'm trying to ignore him, and maybe flinching away was the wrong approach, but it's like I can feel him next to me and if he wasn't staring, captivated by Eliza, then maybe I'd let myself look at him. Madame Bernard is speaking sluggishly, lulling the class to sleep one by one and it comes as a shock to me that I am not already long gone, especially with the feeling of lethargy that weighs down my limbs. I skim the dark lead of my pencil across my skin again, trailing little white lines that fade in seconds.

"John." The voice isn't hard to pick out as Alex's. Staying up until the late hours of the night just listening to a voice really does engrave the sound into your memory. Besides, Alex's voice has a nice sort of tone to it. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe losing sleep was the worst decision all of us made. When I grant him no acknowledgment, he taps me sharply on the shoulder and snatches the pencil from my fingertips. With narrowed eyes I turn to face him, and he's holding a piece of blue paper with writing on it. I don't want to read it. I want to turn away and focus on the lesson that I don't understand and just pretend he's not there and that I'm not slowly falling for him, but he's insistent. The sticky note in his hand reads I do not approve in thick, messily scrawled letters. I cast him a penetrative glower and pluck the pencil from his grasp.

"Boys, is there a problem here?" Unbeknownst to Alex and me, Madame Bernard has crept close and stands between two desks, Alex's and Eliza's. Eliza is peering around her, wearing an expression of daunting concern but, for once. Alex pays her no mind. He shakes his head, and he's still looking at me with those stunning coffee-colored eyes of his.

"He just got a little lost. I thought it'd be the kind thing to do." His tone is convincing. It passes off our distraction as a mere aid to ineptitude for the language.

"She said to turn to page 152." He gestures to a blue-bound book sitting in the far corner of my imitation-wood desk. "In the textbook." She nods her approval and leaves us, me, red-faced and speechless and Alex, cool and collected. He even goes so far as to wink at me before swiveling back to his own work.

The shrill toll of the bell shatters the sound of flipping pages and whispered translations and sends the classroom flying into a frenzy of papers falling to the tiles and limbs scrambling for the door. Alex is waiting for me, and the sight of him brings a smile to my face no matter how I try to stay indifferent.

Biology is only a few doors down, and we traipse down the tiled hallway, which has been stained over the many years of use, in total silence. There isn't a need for conversation, and I don't want to talk to him. Or maybe I do. I'm not sure, but I do know I'm afraid he'll bring up Eliza, a subject I'd rather not discuss. The occupants of the class are scattered haphazardly throughout the room, most with their heads down, some draped leisurely across their molded plastic chairs, and two girls are chatting animatedly in the far back corner. As for their conversation, I can only make out their giggles. Alex's latches onto my wrist and tows me to the girls. He greets them with exhilaration and they welcome him with open arms.

Angelica has removed her flannel and twisted it into a loose knot around her waist, exposing the vulgar words printed in bold font across her chest. It shows confidence, I guess. And it definitely comes as a surprise. Not that Angelica would wear such a thing, but rather that she hasn't been dragged off due to the strictly enforced dress code. The chair by my right side, the one not occupied by a smiling Alex, screeches against the floor, and seconds later a curly-haired girl is sitting by my side. It's Peggy, with flowers woven into her hair yet again, and she's beaming at me like she's just won the lottery.

Our group relapses into conversation but only for a moment, as a throat cleared loudly alerts us to Mr. Clarkwood standing above us with a crippling glower set on his face. He's not an intimidating man. His hair clumps in uneven patches and looks thin and wiry even from a distance. His face is veiled in laugh lines and even Alex, as short as is, dwarfs him. He speaks up in a gravelly voice, telling off the girls for their 'hardly appropriate clothing choices' and points a meaty finger out the door.

"Office," he growls. His voice is the only thing I can take seriously about him, and even that seems silly compared to his cheerful demeanor. Peggy's face pales, and Angelica springs to her feet.

"You'll never take me alive!" She shouts, putting on an expression of valor. She takes hold of Peggy's hand and, together, the two dash from the room, trailing giggles along with the steady click of heels on linoleum, leaving Eliza and me alone to vie for Alex's attention. And just like that, the classroom explodes into laughter. I find myself enthralled by Alex once again, the way his hair shakes with his body through bouts of laughter and the dimples that form on his cheeks. He's practically glowing and the sun streaming in through the parted blinds provides no disturbance from this. He looks like some sort of celestial god. Confident. Glowing. And absolutely beautiful.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

 **Warnings: Brief violence, mature language**

 **I hope you enjoy! Also leave some comments about what you think because we crave attention :)**

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I stare at the version of myself reflected in the full-length mirror: dark locks of hair spilling out of my hair tie, a thin brown belt, a dark grey suit, and overflowing confidence. The dance is semi-formal, but I'd hate to be one of those guys who wears jeans and a t-shirt to an event such as a dance. It's lazy and embarrassing. I'd much rather be overdressed and look smoking hot than wear a casual outfit and look scrappy.

John knocks on the half-open bedroom door. "You alright in there?" His voice sounds more weary than usual, and it's probably because he couldn't get a date to the dance. He should have asked Peggy - she's clearly interested in him, and they seem to be very close.

I straighten my tie before making my way to the doorway where John is leaning against the wall in a brown blazer, a dark blue button-up shirt, and jeans. The outfit looks staggering on him. No homo intended. He seems nervous, so I grab his shoulder reassuringly. Or maybe he's not nervous, and I just want an excuse to touch the fabric of his blazer. Either way, no homo.

"Is it time?" I ask. The dance starts at seven and goes until ten, and the girls will be meeting us in the hallway at any moment. John glances at his watch and nods. Lafayette and Hercules emerge from their respective bedrooms, grinning and dressed formally as well except for Lafayette's skinny jeans. We leave the room in an unintentional line - Hercules in front, his beanie threatening to fall off with every step, then Lafayette, then me, and finally John, hands in pockets, looking down. He doesn't seem to want to talk to me or even make eye contact, but I can't think of anything I've done to make him upset.

The four girls have already congregated in the hallway. Angelica runs up and hugs us one by one, already squealing. Maria has her arm flung around Eliza's shoulders, and I clench my jaw thinking of the note she wrote me. _I'm gay, so kill John. Marry Angelica. Fuck Eliza._ She seems to be a little bit too comfortable touching Eliza. After being released by a very adrenalized Angelica, I walk over to Elizabeth. She wriggles out of Maria's grasp as I lift her hand from where it hangs by her side. John refuses to look at me, but the rest of the group is staring as I kiss her hand. Eliza pretends to faint into Maria's arms, and Maria giggles and wraps an arm around Eliza's waist. Eliza pulls me by the chin closer to her and whispers in my ear.

"You look brilliant."

"You look divine," I breathe into her ear, just loud enough for only her to hear. We rejoin the group as the rest of them move down the hallway, headed for the school gymnasium. Eliza's delicate fingers are laced within mine, and though the air is cold, her hand provides me with an exterior warmth. Peggy walks next to John, her plaid skirt swishing back and forth, and stares at him. His gaze alternates between focusing on her and in front. Angelica has her elbow linked with Lafayette's and is talking a mile a minute, pausing only to cover her exposed shoulders that must be extremely cold without the pale pink velvet material to cover them.

The gym is decorated with enough streamers to overwhelm almost anyone. There are huddled groups of teenagers in every corner of the large room. Only a few couples dance together, but it is an upbeat song so there is no contact involved. As predicted, some boys wear jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Some girls, even, wear leggings and a crop top. I can see Maria eyeing me like she's trying to judge how irritated I will be by her next move.

"Care to dance?" she asks Eliza, extending a hand. As much as I want to, I cannot be controlling. Angelica purses her lips at me, and I can tell she won't stand for it either. It doesn't really matter, anyway, because Eliza doesn't spare me a glance before skipping onto the dance floor with Maria. I unconsciously clench my hands into fists as I watch the girls dance. Maria keeps finding reasons to brush Eliza's hair out of her face or squeeze her arm, and Eliza's smile grows brighter every time she does. I avert my eyes from their energetic figures before I get the nerve march up and demand Eliza's attention. The kind of jealousy that penetrates me now isn't a sweet kind. It's the kind that could motivate me to do things I will regret.

It almost seems like they're doing it on purpose. _I_ asked Eliza to the dance as my date, and that means she shouldn't flirt with whatever girl asks her to dance. I glance over at John, who chats with Peggy by the drinks table, and an idea sprouts in my mind. I strut, parallel to the wall of the gym, up to the drinks table and stand next to John. I shred my blazer and hang it on my shoulder.

"Hey, John," I start. His eyes leap up to my face. Perfect; I've got his attention. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty good, Alex."

"That's great. I don't believe I got your number yesterday… ?"

John stares at me like I'm asking him to spike the punch instead of asking for his number.

"I guess not. I can put it in your phone." John seems bewildered at first, but then his voice returns to its smooth, natural state.

"I'd love that." I reach my arm out to his and rub my hand up and down his arm. For a split second, I turn my eyes to the dance floor to make sure that Eliza is watching. Sure enough, the girls have stopped dancing and now I have their full attention. Even Angelica, eyes narrowed in my direction, has paused her flirtatious conversation with a boy whose name I don't know.

"I'm so glad we're roommates, John," I purr in a low voice while he types his number into my phone. "I like seeing your face every morning."

Okay, I'm going too far with this. My hand shakes as it rests on the table, and a warning flashes in my mind. All that matters, though, is that Eliza is jealous and John is smiling like his firstborn child just graduated. I hesitate, feeling the gazes of my classmates on the back of my neck, before giving John back his phone and taking his hand in my own.

 _John Laurens_

 _I like seeing you every morning._ Alex's words echo in my mind. They melt my heart and bring a smile to my face. He's holding my hand now, leading me away from a crestfallen Peggy and into the middle of the gymnasium where the dancers are abundant. The music is slow and mesmerizing and I'm so caught up in the moment that I must've missed something Alex said, for he has stopped walking and now stares expectantly, waiting for me to say something. When I don't comply he speaks again, bitterly.

"Did you see Eliza with Maria?" I had seen them, dancing closely and finding any excuse to make contact with the other. Blatant flirting. I had felt bad for Alex for only a moment, but when Peggy towed me away, I made myself forget the pity and enjoy my time with my best friend. But I don't tell him this. I figure it may make him feel worse to know how painfully obvious they were. I shake my head, and his lips pull into a frown. I can feel four sets of eyes pinned on my back as Alex's hands find their way to my hips. His eyes keep flicking to the side, back to the group we left behind at the drink table. I wonder what he's thinking. But right now that doesn't matter, because we're dancing and the light falls around us in soft waves, and he's smiling that charming, beautiful smile of his and everything is right in my world, even if only for this moment. The crowd shifts, obscuring us entirely from the formally clad group. He's stopped looking at them by now, and he has a sort of satisfied smirk on his face.

He leans close, so close his lips are nearly brushing my cheek.

"Thanks for playing along…" He breathes softly in my ear.

"That was awesome of you, I can't thank you enough." Alex's hands fall away and I almost reach out to catch his fingers in my own before his words sink in.

"Eliza was so jealous of you! You should've seen her face!" He's laughing now, but the sound that usually causes joy to bubble in the pit of my stomach only fills me with a smoldering, festering anger. I back away because I don't want him to notice the tears welling in my eyes.

"Fuck you, Alex." And then my open palm is flying toward his face as if on its own accord. And it hits him, square in the jaw, and my tears are flowing freely now, pouring down my face in thick, hot streams. His hand flails for my wrist but I'm already gone, bolting from the crowded room, slipping around students with cups filled with dark, sloshing liquid, under the arms of couples locked in dances similar to the one Alex and I had been encapsulated in only moments before.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps pounding in sporadic rhyme along the stained tiles. I didn't expect him to follow me. I didn't expect him to care that I'm crying. I haven't known him long enough for him to care, but in these few day I have figured out that Alex doesn't give a shit about my feelings. And why should he? He has no reason to love the weird, freckled boy he's known for less then a week, even if I have fallen head-over-heels.

I drag a tear-stained hand across my equally discolored cheek. I don't know where I'm going. I'm letting my feet carry me wherever they please, no matter the location. I can only pray Alex will just give up and let me wallow in my sadness. I could be going to the old elementary playground, with it's wailing swing set and rusted chains. Or the diner on the corner of Second and Monroe St. Or maybe even back to dorm 51 to curl up beneath the covers and cry until my eyes go red.

I already know this is ridiculous, to be this distraught over a charming boy with beautiful eyes. But maybe it's that _he's still behind me_ , calling my name. Probably questioning what he did to merit such a response. I stop at the door and fumble aimlessly through my pocket for a minute I don't have. My fingers skim the cold copper key the office staff provided the four of us with and I unlock the door, battling fiercely with the stubborn latch.

He's barely seconds behind me when I slam the dark wooden door, one of the few things that consist of genuine wood in this school. My bed is the most welcoming thing I've seen all night, rumpled quilts and all. He treats the door like an open invitation, breaking in without missing a stride.

"John, I'm _sorry_!" He seats himself on the edge of my bed and it sinks beneath his weight with the contrast. I won't speak to him. Maybe giving him only silence will compel him to leave, but it's seeming less and less likely by the second, for he's inching closer with a look so penitent that it would be an offense to neglect him.

"I was angry and sick of watching Eliza and… look, I'm sorry. That was a stupid mistake. I was an asshole and I'm sorry." It sounds heartfelt. His voice is brimming with remorse, genuine _pain_. But it could be merely a figment of my imagination. He's looking at me in the same manner he used at the dance, but that was only an act. A ploy to make his otherwise occupied date covetous.

"And besides, there is no one here to be jealous of you now." His voice drops an octave and he's falling forward again, in the same almost slither that haunts me from the sleepless night we shared. And then he's kissing me. His lips are warm and chapped against mine and with all the negative feelings that cloud my mindset aside, it's the second moment of the night that I want to go on forever.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the delay... but here's another chapter! Please like, comment, and follow! :)**

Alexander Hamilton

Kissing John isn't at all like what I'd hoped kissing Eliza would be like. It isn't soft or gentle at all. It's rhythmic and sweaty and if I were a hopeless romantic I'd say that everything has fallen into place. But everything hasn't fallen into place at all; it's gotten tossed around and jumbled in the most beautiful way. I don't look at John's eyes until I've pulled away. I think my eyes are closed during the kiss, but I can't really be sure because I'm not focusing on whether my eyelids are covering my eyes or not. I can only feel the rawness of his lips, his mouth, his skin, and no thoughts come to my mind.

The kiss lasts until I realize what I'm doing and pull away. Well, I realize that what I'm doing was of my own free will and that I like it. John looks at me with his eyes wide and lips parted. His fingers are digging into my arm. He is so vulnerable right now I want to kiss him again or slap that sweet look off his face. Then another face pushes its way into my thoughts - a female one, with light blue eyes and a sweet smile. I didn't even dance with the girl I asked to be my date. No matter how strong my urge to feel my lips against his is, I need to make things right with Eliza. I take him in with one last glance, cup my hand onto his face, and flee the room. I don't have the courage to look back and see how he feels about my second betrayal of the night.

Eliza is standing outside the dormitory, arms crossed against the blue fabric that covers her chest. There are new tears forming in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She glowers at me with the most intense rage I've ever seen.

"Eliza. Eliza, I'm sorry." I grab onto her arms with my hands, but she pulls away with disgust on her face.

"You know, I wouldn't have agreed to be your date if I knew that you would flirt with another guy all night." Her voice is fueled by ice and fire, but it doesn't mask her sorrow.

"Like I said, I'm sorry," I say. "And you were dancing with Maria."

"But I didn't flirt with her or touch her arm or hold her hand!"

"You have no idea how much I regret this."

"No, I really don't. You could be putting on an act for all I know!"

"I just want to be with you. And I promise I will never do anything like this again."

Eliza seems suspicious, and I don't blame her. I really, really messed up. Angelica appears farther down in the hallway, and her carefree laughter abruptly ends once she sees us.

"Girl, is this asshole bothering you?" Her harsh eyes scan me up and down. I take a step back from Eliza. Two days in and I know who I don't want to cross. Something tells me if I get Angelica mad she's going to make all hell break loose in my life. Eliza looks away, and I can tell that she doesn't want this to be a big thing more than she's mad at me.

"Eliza, please give me a second chance. I can prove that I'm not a stupid asshole who can't spend a night with the girl he asked out."

I lift a hand up to her face and gently wipe a tear away with my thumb. She lets me, which is a good sign, but I can tell that it isn't over for her. Angelica's glower stings me, but at least Eliza isn't crying anymore. I try to catch her hand in my own, but she pulls it out of reach.

"I should go. It's - it's getting late." She casts a fleeting look towards me before linking her elbow with Angelica's and retreating down the hallway back to her room. I breathe a presumptuous sigh of relief and slowly sink from the wall to the floor until I'm crouching on the cold tiles. The door to the dorm flies open with a horrendous screech, and a tear-stained John emerges with his freckled hand on the doorknob. Damn those soft lips and wide eyes and scattered freckles that make me want to kiss him, every inch of him, over and over again. Damn whatever it is that makes me regret making things right with Eliza after only a glimpse of him. I hate him for being so enticing, and I hate myself for being susceptible to his charms. I angle my body away from him and lower my eyes to the floor. I don't want to talk to him or even acknowledge that I've messed everything up. Again. I messed up when I let my jealousy take over, and I messed up when I lost control of myself. Now I'm messing up with avoiding the unavoidable.

John's chin quivers as he holds back tears. I scowl at the floor, doing anything not to look at him. I can't face what I've done to him. I can't take anything back. And I'm not sure I would erase the kiss from history if I could; it was pretty magical. Seeing John get what he wants kind of does that to you. Fills the world with color and all that. But right now, I can't let John fill my world with color. I need to give Eliza the limelight because she will be my person, and as much as I want to be John's person, I know that in no universe do I deserve him.

Hercules stumbles into view all but cradling Lafayette, both of them swaying back and forth to keep their balance, clearly drunk. I begin to wonder where they could get alcohol, but all my doubts drown in my shock as I watch the two of them bring their heads close together. Hercules whispers something in Lafayette's ear with a mischievous smile, and Lafayette nods with the enthusiasm of a ten-year-old boy although it's probably not the target audience of what Hercules is saying.

John Laurens

The small crowd disperses, each student drifting away to their dorms. Hercules and Lafayette stumble past me through the door I hold slightly ajar and soon only Alex and I are left standing on the linoleum tiles. My tears have long dried on my cheeks, but fresh ones threaten to spill as I stand there, arms crossed, staring at Alex. I won't look him in the eyes. I focus instead on his hairline, hopeful that maybe it could look like I'm actually brave enough to make eye contact. His lips are hanging open and he's staring back at me. His expression is pitying and maybe the sympathy is supposed to warm my heart but instead, it only makes me feel increasingly worse.

"John…" he starts, breaking the deafening silence that has engulfed us. "I'm sorry, but I like Eliza." As if I didn't know that. As if his refusal to even look at me as he scurried from my room wasn't a good enough sign that he regretted this. I nod and force my lips to curve into a pleasant smile.

"Of course, congratulations." I'm trying to sound like the supportive friend I should be. The supportive friend I want to be. But I must be betraying my hurt in my face because his agitated expression doesn't fade.

"But a word of advice, don't go around kissing other people if you're really serious about this," I hiss. I've given up my supportive friend act and my voice drips malice. I shouldn't hold this against him. It's not his decision who he likes; it's not anyone's, but that doesn't dissolve the hurt and jealousy eating away at me. I push past him, because I'm crying again and I don't want him to see, and because he still stares at me with pity, which is the last thing I want. I set off with a destination in mind this time, a place that never fails to cheer me up, probably because the place in question is more dismal than any emotion that could cloud my thoughts.

The lawn beyond the insulated walls of the school stretches out for miles of pale, unnatural green. More of a lime color than one to be associated with a field. It looks fake, but the woods beyond it are real. A vast expanse of oak and evergreens. It's a calm place; a good place to collect one's thoughts and simply escape from the suffocating hold of high school and its sea of drama. I came here to hide away amidst the pine needles countless times in the year before. In times like this where all I wanted to do was cry until I could muster no more tears and then just sit and wallow in my own despair. The trees are growing bigger now as I approach the abrupt line where grass turns to trees and blankets of leaves, crisp and brittle from the biting cold. Leaves crunch and fall into pieces around my feet. I should stop running. I should never have run in the first place. People always ramble about how running away from your problems is never the right approach, but if they truly think that, they have no idea how good running away feels. But, come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have run away. It was a stupid idea and more likely than not made things worse. I've dug myself an emotional hole so deep I can't even reach the rim.

I don't know how long I've been going, but my pace has become sluggish and drained and my breathing is labored. I let myself fall at the base of an old oak because I can already feel myself drifting off. The sound of footsteps and crumpling leaves take me by surprise and I'm ashamed to admit the hammering of my heart. Has he followed me again? At this point I don't know what would be worse, Alex's face peering at me through the trees or the monsters that my mind conjures up by the second. But the girl who emerges from the dark abyss is most certainly not either. She skims a hand across the leaves and needles and they make way for her spindly fingers. Peggy settles beside me, and the two of us sit side by side for an agonizing minute before she speaks.

"Jesus, you're a mess, Jack. Care to tell me what's bothering you?" Her voice is even and smooth, but I can detect the concern behind it. It's not shocking that she doesn't know, but I would've thought she had some clue.

"Sick of high school." Nodding, she takes my hand in her own for only a second before dropping it.

"Alex kissed me." I blurt out because she's the own person providing me comfort and because I don't want to hold back information from my best friend. "He made me think he could've liked me, told me he only wanted Eliza to be jealous, then kissed me in the span of half an hour."

"Alex is an asshole, just ignore him." For a moment I think that's all she'll offer, but after a lengthy pause, she continues.

"Anyone would be out of their mind not to like you. So just ignore him, or just tell him you're sick of his bullshit. You deserve so much better." She's got me smiling again, that smile that reaches from my eyes that she always draws from me.

"And I'm happy to be out here, with you." When I swivel to look at her, she won't meet my eyes, but even in dim light pouring from the moon, her smile is evident.

Twigs and leaves alike crackle under the soles of her shoes and the oak groans as her weight leaves the trunk. When I look up, she's offering me a hand, and I don't hesitate to take it. Her hand is warm, surely warmer than mine, and when I look again she's got a mischievous, almost crazy smile on her face. But no matter the cause of her smile, the expression brings an identical one to my face.

"Tonight, John Laurens, my one goal is to cheer you up! By the time we get back you must have forgotten Alexander ever existed!" Her voice is brimming with laughter and she looks so genuinely happy that I don't think twice about following her from the confines of the trees.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

 _Alexander Hamilton_

Hercules wakes up with an intense hangover, and we all thank God it's a weekend. I seriously doubt any of us would be able to listen to him complain all day about the horrible pains in his head. Except Lafayette, maybe. He doesn't mind Hercules saying anything at all. Honestly, their situation is so dismal it draws my focus from my issue with John and Eliza. Lafayette gazes after Hercules when he knows he's not paying attention with the most pitiful eyes, longing and the sad thought that he will never feel the same way. Hercules and Lafayette seem to be having fun together, though. They obviously had a blast at the dance, somehow found alcohol and ingested it, and stumbled back with arms around each other. Judging by the number of times they whispered into each other's ears, I bet they said some things they don't remember. Lafayette seems to be remembering this as he lounges in a rocking chair next to a window.

"There's nothing to _do_ here, Alex," he grumbles, feverishly rocking back in forth like it's the only way to cure his boredom. "Especially with Herc confined to the bed with his hangover."

I roll my eyes. There must be some upsides to being comfortable enough with your roommates that you complain to them nonstop, I just haven't found them yet.

"There's plenty to do, Laf, if you would leave this room." He dismisses the idea with a sassy hand and a few muttered words in French. I strain to translate what he's saying, but there's only so much I can understand from an irritated fluent French speaker. We sit there in silence, Lafayette moving back and forth with as much passion as before and me tapping my foot against the floor, for only a moment. The chair refuses to tolerate Lafayette's aggression any longer, and he tumbles out of it as it topples over, striking the wall to produce a deafening noise. My lips twitch into a smile as I watch Lafayette struggle to get back on his feet with an alarmed expression on his face.

John Laurens opens the door, obviously having heard the noise, glancing around with wide eyes. It takes some serious effort not to look at him, but if I'm staying true to my word, which I undoubtedly am, I can't let myself be dragged into this again. I catch a glimpse of his smile faltering as he sees my face, and it's kind of disheartening because I had hoped that we could become best friends. At least, maybe we could be if Peggy wasn't hanging all over him. I hope we can put this behind us and focus on right now, but John doesn't seem to be over it. I don't blame him, of course not; I led him on only to walk right back out on him. It was the shittiest of the cruel things I could have done.

"Hey, where were you last night?" I say, keeping all emotion out of my voice.

"Are you my mother, Alexander? I spent the night with Peggy."

Lafayette perks up from his seated position and grins. "SPICY!"

I groan despite having no clue what he's saying. John covers his face with his hands, more annoyed than embarrassed.

"It wasn't like that, Laf." Paying no heed to John's denial, Lafayette makes vaguely obscene gestures with his hand. John's glare grows strong enough that Lafayette ceases his movement and lowers his eyes.

"Really, John? I think that girl has a crush on you." John's face is tinted pink, but he shakes his head and takes a seat in the armchair next to the overturned rocking chair. A guttural moan slips in under the door, and Lafayette leaps up, spreads his fingers in the air by his side (like a soccer mom who realized she forgot to go to a PTA meeting), and sprints into Herc's bedroom.

I nudge my chair closer to John, and he gives me a quizzical look. Maybe he'll think I'm crazy, and he won't understand, but if he does, it'll give us a chance to put our friendship back where it belongs.

"Have you seen how they look at each other? All the pining?" I say in a low voice.

"Of course I have, Alex. All throughout last year." He sighs. "They're hopeless."

"They don't have to be. We could… set them up. Make them reveal their feelings for each other." I wave my hands in the air like a visionary. If they could get over their fears and admit it to each other, they would both be much happier, and we wouldn't be stuck getting frustrated over how oblivious they are. It would be even better to get the entire group involved, all of us working together, without their knowledge.

John begins to shake his head, but his movement slows and eventually stops. He considers the idea, lifting his eyes to inspect the ceiling, before looking me right in the eye and nodding, a mischievous smile playing at his full lips. I grin back at him, take his hand, and shake it, both of our hands lingering a little bit longer than necessary.

 _John Laurens_

At this point, I'm not sure which is a worse idea, setting up two of the few friends I've managed to make or conspiring with Alexander. He's grinning like a little kid that has been offered a lollipop and his eyes shine with a sort of mischievous air. Lafayette has been gone for only five minutes and we sit in an awkward silence despite the plans that must be going through Alex's head.

When I first stepped through the door and back into the warm atmosphere that encompasses the dorm, I considered spinning on my heel and running all the way back to Peggy's dorm. Her friends graciously allowed me to spend the night after hearing my unfortunate situation with someone we only specified as "a friend," and I patently enjoyed their company, especially the grey-eyed girl who later introduced herself to me as Theodosia. She accompanied Peggy and me to the diner that sits at the end of a twelve minute walk from the school and we must've stayed there for hours, because a boy with heavy bags under his eyes ushered us from the sweet smelling room at somewhere close to one AM. I spent the night on the couch in the room between the kitchen and two bedrooms. I'd like to say that I slept from then on, but really I spent my night pondering the many ways of retaliation of how to act when inevitably faced with Alex.

Alex pipes up through the silence that has engulfed the room with his first idea. It isn't the best I've heard, for all it seems to be is a shallow way of forcing our two victims together.

"What if we took a page from their book and played a little truth or dare!" He speaks with so much enthusiasm you'd think he was suggesting a master plan to earn millions of dollars rather than a ploy to set up our pining roommates. But nevertheless, I nod, because I'm lacking a better idea or even a valid argument against Alexander's proposal.

"I don't have a problem with that. But not right now, leave them alone for a bit." I rise from my chair and Alex follows my lead, earning only a raised eyebrow from me. With a sheepish smile he walks toward me and against my better judgement I begin to notice the way his hair falls messily around his face and how his eyes glint with a childish misconduct.

"What, worried they'd want me to kiss you again?" His words shatter the thoughts playing through my mind. He couldn't have said something worse at the moment, but maybe I am. I wonder if I would let him this time. I can't deny that I enjoyed it when he kissed me the first time, but what came after did nothing but sting.

"Worried you'd like it, Hamilton?" My voice has gone cold and even to my own ears; it comes across as much more aggressive than I had originally intended. His smile falters and even though it's only for a moment it's enough to give me satisfaction.

"Now, let's get back to brainstorming, shall we?" I sink back into the safe hold of my chair because I think my knees were shaking or maybe it was just to show closure with the matter but for whatever reason, Alex returns to his seat as well.

"I was thinking more like offering them dinner or something. Like set them up to go on a date," I say, lacking Alex's unachievable levels of ardor but still enough to seem eager. He's looking at me quizzically, making me feel like an explanation or some sort of specific plan is required.

"Just-" I heave a sigh and watch him settle against his chair. "Hear me out. So, we go up to them and tell them you and Eliza have dinner reservations but she can't make it. Say you need someone to go in your place and suggest it be them who go instead of you. Sound good?" His puzzled look vanishes only to be replaced by some emotion that makes him seem almost impressed. That was my goal. To impress him, I mean. My planning skills may be flawed but evidently I have done better than I thought, for he's nodding his approval as a smile plays across his face.

"That actually sounds a lot better than truth or dare, it's-"

"Less cliche?" I cut in before he can manage a full sentence. He's nodding and once again that grin inhabits his face. The one that reminds me of a pleased little kid and more than anything makes me feel the weird urge to hug him or pinch his cheeks or something else that would probably make him severely regret meeting me. A smiling face peers around the doorframe at us before Lafayette steps fully into view.

"Okay yes, it may be a little less cliche but it's not like I... hello Lafayette." I️ glare at him, hoping to let him know that his behavior could very well give us away and ruin the whole scheme I️'ve planned. Lafayette eyes him suspiciously and, despite his focus, it isn't hard to draw his attention away from Alexander.

"Accept defeat, Hamilton!" I️ say in a voice much too loud for the confines of our small dorm. My statement earns the desired effect from Alex, but Lafayette only rolls his eyes at us and retreats to his rocking chair. Alex recovers from the giggling mess I️ have reduced him to much quicker than I️ have hoped but it's to be expected. What I️ have said wasn't really amusing enough to merit a hearty laugh to begin with.

Another face rounds the corner and Hercules steps into the lamp-lit room. His lips are set in a childish pout, but the sight of him seems to brighten Lafayette's mood. Before either of the boys can speak, Alexander breaks the short silence that ensued Hercules' rise from the dead.

"Perfect! Just the two I️ was looking for!" He looks at me with a little smirk. Despite his pompous look, he still manages to be as painfully attractive as ever. With wide eyes, I️ shake my head. But Alex either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he continues in a cool, even tone.

"I️ made dinner reservations with Eliza, but it turns out she can't make it. I️ thought the two of you might enjoy it in our place?" Lafayette doesn't hesitate to give Hercules an eager smile and as they fix their eyes on each other, contemplating Alex's offer I️ assume, both Alex and I️ sit forward in our seats.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

 **Trigger warnings: Mentions of physical and verbal abuse. This chapter was pretty hard to write because of John's memories.**

 _2 WEEKS LATER_

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I wake up to the sound of John's anguish. He is sleeping in the bedroom down the hall ( **props to those who understand this obscure DEH reference** ), but his screams penetrate the walls and reach my ears. I've learned in the two weeks since arriving at the school that Hercules and Lafayette can withstand a lot while sleeping, and it seems as though I'm the only one awake to hear John's screams. I don't think before jumping out of my bed about the cause of his distress - a nightmare? An invader? - and don't pause until I've reached his door. I open the door with my entire body tensed and ready to defend myself and John if we are attacked. There's sharp movement in his bed, and my mind goes silent with the thought of John bringing home an amorous visitor unbeknownst to me, but there's no one else. As I approach the bed with tentative footsteps, I see him thrashing around in agony, his mouth letting out whimpers that grow into sobs. My hand reaches out to him of its own accord, and I find myself patting him awake.

"John," I whisper. My voice gets louder as I grab onto John's shoulder to keep him from hurling himself off the bed. "John, you need to wake up!"

John goes silent for a moment, his body paralyzed, before gasping and opening his eyes. I inspect his face, sweaty and disoriented, and keep clutching his shirt. It's the stability I'm sure we both need. John looks vulnerable as ever with his tear-streaked, pale face and pain in his eyes. What could have warranted such a reaction?

"John, you're okay. It's okay." When his heavy breathing grows softer, I speak again. "What happened?"

"I-I get night terrors."

"Are you alright?" He shakes his head. I close the space in between us and hold onto him. His shirt is cold, and I desperately want to warm him up. I climb onto the bed next to him, my arms still wrapped around him in a protective embrace. John doesn't seem to object as he leans into me and slumps back into his lounging position. I retract my grip and put some space between us, but I have no intention of leaving. I never want to hear him in pain like that again, and if he thinks I'll let him stay here alone for the rest of the night, he's very wrong. John begins to breathe heavier as he drifts off to sleep, but my brain won't calm down enough for my eyes to close. I find that my breaths align with his, slow, deep, and rhythmic.

After what seems like hours, John begins to move once again. The motions aren't as violent this time, but he's still in danger of falling off. I steady him with both hands.

"Get off of me, Thomas," he growls, still immersed in his dream. His expression softens, and his eyelashes flutter, his eyes only slightly opened.

"I love you too, Alex."

"What?" It's not real. It's all in a dream of his. He's completely over me; he said so ages ago. He's dated other people, at least he said he has. John has no idea what he's saying - it's an illusion. He falls silent for a few seconds, smiling, before pushing me away with both hands.

"Get _off_ me, Thomas!" I giggle, and his eyelids fly open.

"Oh God, I was dreaming. What did I say?" He looks scared of the answer, and I don't blame him. I would be, too, if I had declared my love for my roommate while sleeping.

"Well, first you said 'I love you too, Alex,'" I say, watching him cringe and cover his face with his hands. Between his fingers, I can see that his face is rapidly turning pink. "And then you said, 'get off me, Thomas!'"

John pulls the blanket over his head so the only visible freckles are on his forehead. I can hear him muttering to himself, embarrassed and full of regret. I lift myself into a seated position and wait until John has emerged from the blankets, calmer than before, to speak. I watch his face as I speak, making sure that my words will not evoke a strong reaction from him.

"John… you were screaming earlier." He lowers his head. "What was your nightmare?"

John sighs sadly. I can tell he doesn't really want to tell me, and that's fine, but I also know that he's struggling with it. It's hard for him to say, but he wants me to know. And I want to know, not because I want to force it out of him, but because I want to understand him. To be there for him, when he's in pain.

"When I was younger, things with my father were… problematic. He -" His voice cracks on the last word, and his mouth clamps shut. Tears gather in his eyes, and he turns his head away from me to hide them. I reach my hand across the bed to touch his, and his eyes meet mine for only a second. My hand rests on his, flooding my entire arm with an unfamiliar warmth. He doesn't move his hand, which is surprising to me considering everything I'd done that hurt him. I can't quite trust my own mind at such an early hour, but I don't remember feeling this with Eliza. At least, I can't recall being nervous around her or noticing my attraction to her in the past week. But she thinks I do. Sitting on John's bed with my hand over his, I realize that the lack of attraction is a problem, and I can only solve it by breaking up with her. I really, really don't want to hurt her again, but I can't pretend that my feelings for her are as strong as before. Most of all, I can't ignore what the sight of John's freckled face does to me.

 _John Laurens_

My heart is still hammering when he leaves the room. Both because of the dream that still haunts my mind and because I woke up to him so close I could have kissed him right then and there. Once I'm sure he's out of earshot, I collapse. I fold in on myself, crumpling into a ball and covering my face with my hands. It's safe to cry now, so that's exactly what I do. Silent tears roll down my cheeks and my hair collects in wet clumps at the edges of my face. My hands drop to wrinkled sheets around my folded legs and my head falls back with a painful thump. I ignoring the pulsing pain now creeping around my head, engulfing me. It numbs the pain that seizes my heart like a fist, ever so slowly constricting. My room is dark save for the beam of light flooding from the door, and usually I enjoy the blackness, but tonight it feels alien and as though it's slowly closing in.

When I was younger I would insist sleeping with the light on. When my father asked me why I told him it was because the light chased away the monsters. It was tolerable for a toddler, but when I turned ten my father had had enough. He called me a baby and told me that "men aren't scared of monsters. We're stronger than them. Or at least most are… maybe not you." That's when things started to go downhill. He believed everything was wrong with me, told me I couldn't do anything right. I was fifteen when I got my first boyfriend. I was head-over-heels in love. A starry-eyed teen who believed that his father would support him. But I couldn't have been more wrong. He lost his temper, flew out of control into a rage like a hurricane, and when I tried to ask him what I had done wrong he hit me and scolded me for who I was. Now a new monster inhabits my dreams.

I did have one good dream though, at least it was pleasant for the moment it lasted. The memory is already fading, but I can grasp at it just enough to know what it was about. Alex told me he loved me. He confessed that he never felt anything for Eliza and _I_ was what he needed. Who he needed. I can remember the joy, but it's already fading away, replaced with that horrible sinking depression I felt the night he first hit me. So I let myself cry until I can't cry anymore. I hate to say that it's my most vivid memory, but those are the ones that stick, aren't they? The painful ones.

I hadn't noticed that my hands have balled into fists until now, but I quickly untangle them and switch on the lamp that sits vigilant beside me. It's a shitty guard now that I think about it. I cross to the mirror on quiet feet and draw a hand across my tear stained cheek. He didn't like it when I cried. He called me weak and a baby and… I shouldn't dwell on this. I set my hands shoulder width apart on the cold wooden dresser before me, to sturdy myself and just stand there until the redness in my eyes has dissipated and the swelling of my cheeks has gone back to normal, or almost normal. I stand there until any traces of the tears that had proceeded Alex's departure from my room.

The main room is lit only a by a lamp that illuminates Alex's features in an almost eerie way. The lamp flickers and plunges us into darkness for the briefest of moments and when I can see once again, Alex is on his feet.

"I'm fine," I say, because he's looking at me with a blatantly fretful frown. I wonder if my anguish shows on my face despite the time taken to erase it. He opens his mouth to interject, but I quiet him by saying it again.

"I'm _fine_ , Alex. Really." He offers me a hand but no context for the gesture until I look at him quizzically.

"I thought we could go a short walk through the halls. To talk about what happened. And if not that to calm you down a little." I like that idea, but I don't know if that's my heart telling me that I want to spend this time with him or my mind genuinely thinking this will help.

"It's still dark out, Alex… it's got to be like one in the morning." His uneasy gaze shifts to the clock hanging by a thread on the wall.

"Not even close, it is exactly four…" His words falter and he takes another glance. "thirty-eight AM. So, join me?" His hand is still outstretched, so I take it. His fingers curl gently around mine, tangling our hands together. His hand is warm, or maybe it's my own frigid fingers that provide the contrast. When he leads me from the room, I don't protest. My original worry was coming across someone in the depths of the school, but knowing the actual time banishes that worry. Besides, I have no doubt that the moment I asked him to accompany me back he would comply. As we traipse hand in hand through the halls, the more pleasant dream surfaces in my mind and it takes me a second to realize that this current scenario is playing out like my dream, the walking down the hall holding hands and looking to the outside world like a happy couple part, I mean. The thought reddens my cheeks and I proceed to pry my fingers from his tight grip.

"It's like a tomb," I murmur, more for my own ears than his but nevertheless he responds.

"Actually… I imagine a tomb would smell worse?"

"Trivial details, Hamilton." I meet his eyes with a smile which he returns effortlessly. Our footsteps echo softly through the walls, rebounding off walls worn smooth over the years and reaching back to our ears. Besides that mellow sound, the corridors are deathly quiet and they stay that way for what seems like hours as we pace the maze of hallways that extend like a spiderweb throughout the school. When he does speak again, his voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

"I'd love to hear what happened in your nightmare. If you'll tell me, that is. No pressure. It's okay if you don't trust me with it or don't want to relive it or…" I don't let him conclude his list of reasons that I might not tell him before I begin to shake my head violently. The thought had only just begun to slip my mind before he brought it flooding back in all it's vividly painful glory. "You… won't tell me? That's perfectly okay. I hope this has helped you, though."

"It has. It really has." I find my hand entangled with his once again, but this time I don't pry it away and, much to my surprise, neither does he. Then a thought forms in the back of my mind, it might be a stretch, or even plain crazy, but what if he has begun to return the feelings I have been battling for the weeks we've spent together?


	9. Chapter 9

**warning: brief violence**

CHAPTER 9

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I didn't tell John that I'm about to break up with my girlfriend. It's better that he doesn't know just in case it ends badly or I change my mind or something of the sort. I'm not quite sure that he would care if I did, judging by his apathy and the way he tore his hand away from mine like I had the plague. I don't think I was too forward in holding his hand since I didn't have any motives beyond reassuring him that he wasn't alone. John and I tread through the hallways, talking about everything, until the first bell rings, waking us from our illusion of silence. Suddenly, the hallways are flooded with students carrying books, bags, and tired expressions.

John stops in the middle of the hallway like a deer in headlights, realizing that he looks like he just woke up because he hasn't been in the dorm since before five AM. I laugh and insist him that he looks fine because he really does. His uncombed, curly hair frames his face perfectly, curls hanging in ringlets outside of the messy bun. He frowns, debating missing breakfast to groom himself, before shrugging and accompanying me to the cafeteria. He's in an olive green bomber jacket and acid-wash skinny jeans which he had quickly pulled on after I left his bedroom. He looks stunning enough to render me speechless if I hadn't gotten used to seeing him in the previous hours.

When we reach the cafeteria, nobody is there. I rack my brain for memory of some event I had forgotten about, but nothing comes to mind. When I ask a hall monitor what is going on, she says that it's first period. Somehow we've missed breakfast and ignored the bells. We beg the monitor to write a pass for us, but she refuses with no sympathy, and John and I arrive in French class without an excuse. Eliza looks over at me once I've taken my seat with an eyebrow raised, but I don't grant her an explanation beyond a smile.

The French teacher begins her daily monologue in French, and being disoriented as I am, I lose track of her words until I see her pursing her lips at me. The whole class is looking my way now, and I can tell that I'm in danger of serious public humiliation. John is already losing it, dissolving into a fit of laughter, and I glare at him because he would definitely have less of a clue in this situation.

"Pouvez vous répéter la question?" I say in perfect French. Madam Bernard glares at me like I've stolen her car rather than failed to answer a question.

"I have. Thrice." By now the entire class is snickering at me, and I can't do anything but sink into my chair in shame. Luckily, the teacher moves on with only a heart-shattering glower, although the rest of the class does not. At the end of the period, I receive a paper airplane that reads, "Dumbass. Daydreaming about Eliza?" I crumple up the note and scowl at a smug Hercules like it'll knock him into the ground with the power of my anger. It doesn't, of course, and Hercules only whispers something to Lafayette, who suppresses a giggle once he sees my frown directed at him.

I make sure to be extra attentive in the rest of the morning classes so I don't make the same mistake. It truly would not be great to practically doze off in class twice looking like I just rolled out of my own tomb, and it's bad enough as it is. Eliza, on the other hand, looks beautiful in a plaid skirt and cream sweater that remind me of the day I first met her. A part of me doesn't want to lose her, but another part of me is convinced I won't.

I approach Eliza's table with a forced smile and my hands tucked behind my back so she won't see that they're shaking. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and returns the smile, but it spreads across her face effortlessly.

"Hey," I say.

"Hi." She tilts her head at me, wondering why I practically radiate nervous energy.

"I, um. Can we talk in private?" Her grin fades, and I feel awful watching the lines around her eyes disappear. She nods her head yes, and we start walking away from the table. I wait to talk until we've reached the hallway. She leans back against the wall.

"Eliza, I want to start off by saying that you're the perfect girlfriend and I could never ask for anyone better. It's me who's afraid of commitment and can't stay with an amazing person for a month. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know that there is nothing wrong with you. I am so, so sorry, but I don't think we should be together anymore." Eliza doesn't try to stop the pain from taking over her eyes. The worst part is that she seems like she expected this.

"Is it John? Did you - did you kiss him?"

"God no. I could never. Are you going to be okay?" Eliza faces away from me to dispel the tear forming in her eye.

"I am. Just give me some time." Her voice wavers, and as hard as she tries to conceal her pain, it doesn't work. I place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off and retreats to the cafeteria. I hang back, evaluating my own performance, until I see Thomas march up to the table. His gaze targets Eliza and he speaks to her with a smirk that doesn't belong on his face. She clenches her hands into fists on the table, but Angelica is the one who stands up. Thomas waves her away and moves on to John. His expression turns sour, and I can read his lips.

"What happened to you? Rough night?" Before I know what's happening, I charge into the cafeteria with the sole purpose of hitting him. And before I reach him, a palm strikes my head.

 _John Laurens_

I'm on my feet before I've even processed the events preceding Thomas' comment. I can hear gravelly laughter from the boy standing by my side, but I won't look at him. I _can't_ look at him because I'm afraid that if I avert my eyes even if only for a minute I'll look back to see Alex on the ground.

"Look like your boyfriend's got some fire after all, huh Laurens?" he bellows. I want to lash out at him, to cause him any sort of pain possible despite this matter not being his doing, but a new figure is by my side, and the face is that of a girl I'd never want to hurt. Peggy's face is distorted with a terrifying sort of worry although no second move has been made. I can't help but think of it as my fault. It was me, after all, who Thomas decided to tease. Alexander didn't have to come to my rescue, but, on second thought, Thomas' gaggle of minions didn't have to spring to Thomas' defense even if it was the humane thing to do upon seeing an anger-fueled boy charge at their leader with his hands balled into fists.

Half the cafeteria is frozen now, and the other half either didn't notice or didn't care enough to pay any mind to the fight as it begins to play out in their midst. Everything surges into motion all at once, like a monstrous wave crashing against the shore and with it comes a deafening clamor so loud I'm sure I'll go deaf. I can't make out Alex from the throng people surrounding him anymore. The last I saw of him was his fist, hitting a tall boy I don't recognize square in the jaw. Despite the movement all around me I still feel frozen, rooted the ground beside Peggy, utterly helpless no matter how much I want to defend him the way he did me.

The crowd parts to make way for a formidable man who, unbeknownst to the group closing in around my friend, has entered the room, and a hush falls over the cafeteria. That's when I find myself able to move again, for without warning I'm charging toward them. My worst fears come true when I see Alex lying on stained tiles. He's on his side, so I can't see his face. He's hiding behind his hands, maybe to shield his audience from the sight of the worst of the damage, but his effort proves to be fruitless by the discolored skin on his knuckles. He emits a low groan as he shifts himself into an upright position, and as much as I want to run to him, I am held back by a hand poised in mid-air between Alex and me. Alex's hands fall away, parting to show the bruises already forming in dark patches along his cheeks, ringing his eye, and tracing his jaw. The man must've said something because Alex has begun to shake his head in a sluggish, uneasy way. His hand has dropped, so I advance, and a smile plays across Alex's lips before faltering then falling altogether. I silently chastise myself as another thought surfaces. It's not the right time, and besides, I won't get my hopes up, not if they will ultimately be shattered once again.

"Do you know how to get to the medical wing?" The man's tone leads me to believe he's asked before. I, evidently, did not listen. I nod, and although I know the way almost perfectly I seem unsure of myself, but Alex is already standing. His looks queasy, and as though he is in danger of toppling over at the slightest breeze. I gingerly snake my arm around his waist and let him take his weight off his feet. He isn't as heavy as I would've thought but for a moment I stagger under his weight.

I can feel a thousand sets of eyes boring into the back of my head as we leave and it's still deathly quiet even upon abandoning the war zone. The faces of many still stand out to me, some horrified, some triumphant, and some who seem to be really _enjoying_ this. Even after all these years I've been lucky to live through, it still takes me surprise how many people relish the pain of others. It's sickening.

The halls seem ten times longer when carrying the weight of two and Alex is no help at all with his knees that keep buckling and his stagnant pace. But I can't blame him and I certainly can't complain. His agony seems to be subsiding for he's beginning to support himself with ease now, but I can't say the same for the deep discoloring on his face.

The door stands ajar, letting the intoxicating smell that is only associated with a hospital flood into the corridor. It's strange, like a blend of metal, hand sanitizer, and various medicines bound together into a highly unpleasant perfume.

The room that greets us from beyond the door appears empty. It, too, holds the scent of a hospital, though it's much more potent here. Aside from the mint striped curtains lining the beige painted walls, it is nearly an exact copy of the hall we left behind. One curtain is drawn aside and the bed it reveals has been hastily made, probably in preparation for a new guest. It makes me wonder if anyone has ever died in this room. What if at this very moment Alex and I are being watched by thousands of ghosts standing vigilantly by the iron rods that keep the curtains from tumbling to the floor in a heap of cream and faded mint fabric.

When I hear footsteps making their way through the maze of curtains I wonder briefly if it could be one of those ghosts I could so vividly imagine until a woman with a face so pale she honestly could be a ghost clears her throat.

"Alexander Hamilton?" she says in a voice appropriately shrill for her appearance. He nods and shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. With a curt nod, she spins on her heel and marches off once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**GUYS, IT'S ALEX'S BIRTHDAY! HERE'S A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR BOTH OF YOU!**

CHAPTER 10

 _Alexander Hamilton_

My entire body aches and my head hurts when I try to think about the fight. I can only feel the soft sheets covering my body and sense John sitting in a chair next to my bed. He taps his foot onto the floor, full of energy, and I want to tell him to stop, but I know it'll do no good. John has been waiting here for the better part of an hour, I assume, but I can't bring myself to lift my eyelids. It feels so good to sleep…

"Alexander?"

I open my eyes reluctantly. A tall woman, clad in floral scrubs, stares at me from the doorway.

"I would advise you not to fall asleep quite yet. You are not likely to have a concussion, but just in case…" Her voice trails off, and she doesn't bother to finish the sentence before disappearing behind the door. Now that my eyes are open, I look over at John, who has his chestnut brown eyes focused on the floor.

"John," I say. He smiles at me, and it might be unrelated, but I feel my stomach twitch nervously. I sit up in the bed, propping myself up on my three pillows, and John walks over to where I am.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm completely fine, actually, and I don't know why they're keeping me here." I honestly don't. The only thing wrong with me is a couple of bruises, and despite the nurse's warning, I know there was no damage to my head. Yes, I got knocked to the floor and punched, but that doesn't really warrant a trip to the hospital wing. Besides, if I do need more care, who is going to pay the medical bill? A high school student? I have no family here in the United States, so who would be concerned enough about my well-being to request better health care?

John raises a skeptical in my direction. "Have you seen yourself? There are bruises covering your face."

"So? It's not like I'm going to die."

"Not if you stay away from those fights."

"Maybe I will if Thomas stops being a _fucking asshole._ " John throws his head back to check if the nurse is there and, once he's facing me again, gives me a thumbs-up.

I inhale louder than I meant to, and now John is laughing at me because apparently I just made a noise like a salamander who smoked for a century. As I watch John's face bob up and down while he laughs, I consider my options. Well, firstly, I should tell him what I did today.

"John," I start. He draws his attention back to me. "I-I broke up with Eliza."

John gapes at me, but it's not as genuine as he obviously wants it to be. John was into me a few weeks ago, if not now, and maybe he'll be glad to hear it. But more likely, John will never want me. I hurt him so much earlier this year, and I can never forgive myself. Even if he can forgive me, there is no way in hell I can justify what I've done to him. But, like the fool I am, I want to justify it, and I want him to want me.

"Alex, why? You were so happy with her."

"It wasn't right. I'm not attracted to her anymore. I feel so bad." I hesitate before listing the other reason. "Also, there's someone else I would rather be with." I keep my mouth in a line, determined not to give anything away. John glances away, unfocused, and he probably doesn't care. He got over me; why should I be able to march in and declare that I have completely uninvited feelings for him?

"And who would that be?" He's smirking now, demanding my attention as he makes merciless eye contact with me, and I let my mouth utter the words my brain hasn't thought of yet.

"John, I - it's you. I want to be with you. I know, better than anyone, that I don't deserve your trust or your friendship, and certainly not anything more than that. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I pretended not to care about you. I was afraid of what would happen, and somehow I didn't realize that it made everything worse, but now I do. I'm not expecting you to still like me or be okay with this, but I just want you to know… I will never, ever do that again, I swear on my life, if we're friends or something more… it'll never happen again." I let my chin drop down so I'm looking at the bed instead of John's reaction. My mind floods with the thoughts that were absent while I was speaking with no regard to the consequences. I can't deny that I crave John's approval, and I also can't deny that I'll be crushed if he doesn't return the feelings, but I didn't have to tell him all of this. And maybe I wouldn't have if I thought there was no way he could reciprocate. John clears his throat, and although every voice inside my head is screaming at me to look, I keep my eyes glued to the blanket in fear of his reaction.

"You don't have to give me another chance. You don't have to like me, I just want you to know-" I'm interrupted by John's lips crashing into mine. I jerk back, realizing I haven't taken a breath for a while, before leaning into John again and melting into the kiss.

"- that I love you." I break away from him, and although his lips are no longer on mine, it's the next best thing.

 _John Laurens_

I don't know what I was thinking. Any sane person would have let him down politely, probably telling him that they didn't think they wanted to place their trust in him again. But no. Of course, I decided to _kiss_ him and probably sending everything in a downhill spiral.

"-that I love you." He sits back against his pillows and meets my eyes, waiting for me to acknowledge what he said. Do I love him? I think so. But what if I told him and it was all a joke? It wouldn't be the first time.

"That's a strong word…" I drop my gaze to my hands, unable to look at him anymore. Maybe I should've confessed. Maybe we could've had a sort of "happily ever after" if I had let him know that I returned the feelings.  
"Not if I mean it." He's trying to be calm, I think, but his voice wavers and I can hear the tears in his eyes when he speaks. I want to believe him, but a slight sensation of distrust fills my senses. He reaches out to take my hand, but his fingers have barely brushed mine before our moment is shattered by the shrill squeal of hooks on metal. The curtain that enclosed us, giving us our own private bubble, has been drawn aside, and with it goes Alex's hand. Back to his side. He had been so close to winning my trust and hearing my feelings, but that tiny movement made me distrustful all over again. It was almost like he was embarrassed to be seen in such close proximity to me.

"You seem to be fine. Aside from the obvious bruising, you have very little _real_ damage," the ghost-like woman shrills. "I would, however, advise you to take the rest of the day for rest." Upon seeing the color drain from his face she adds to her suggestion.

"Merely a precaution… if I understand correctly you have classes with these boys this afternoon?" Her beady eyes meet Alex's, and I turn in time to see his head bobbing up and down warily. He looks to me then with an expression in which he seems to be attempting to give me some sort of message. My lips pull into a frown, and I shake my head. His face falls, and the woman clears her throat. Instead of the usually muted cough, the sound reminds me of a throat being mutilated in a blender.

"So I actually have permission to leave class?" He looks mildly astonished as he speaks, and when I sneak a second look at him, I notice his hand inching slowly towards mine. With raised eyebrows, she nods and glances pointedly toward the door. The polished glass handle shines brightly even from my post by Alex's bed, so that is what I keep my eyes on in lieu of Alex's face as I offer him my hand. He takes it with all the eagerness of a little kid, and I don't have to look to know he's smiling. Maybe he thinks this means we've come to sort of agreement when really this is my clue to him that I want to get out of this pristine room as quickly as possible.

"How can I make it up to you?"

"What?" Since leaving the sinister room, neither of us has said a word, and I expected the silence to last until we reached the dorm. Frankly, I had hoped it would.

"I know you can't trust me after what I did. I wouldn't. So… how can I prove that I won't hurt you again?" he clarifies. I stop mid-step and stare into his coffee-colored eyes. Of course, he has to be just as attractive as ever. I clench my teeth and look away in hopes of remaining insusceptible to his charms. I hadn't actually considered this, how Alex could make up his betrayal to me.

"Figure something out, Hamilton." I like the way is sounds, saying his last name in lieu of his first. It makes me feel powerful somehow, like someone who can't even be bothered to learn his first name. It sounds cruel putting it into words but I don't mind that. I've more than earned _my_ chance to be cruel.

We part ways where the corridor diverges into two halls, one leading down a hall filled with talkative classes and teachers who have long lost their spirit, and the other to a twisting maze of dorms that even after a year I have yet to find the swiftest path through. He bids me an awkward farewell as I set off for class with a heavy heart. I do regret not telling Alex I return his feelings, but not enough to admit. It's his turn to long for someone the way I did for him.

The class is quiet, a sight I have never witnessed before today, and when I step through the old oak door I'm greeted with a smile. I take my seat beside the one friend who enjoys art enough to join me and Peggy points a finger to the paper lying before her. It's tainted by faded pencil marks and eraser shavings but the most eye-catching piece is the rose-drawn carefully in the center. I give her the thumbs-up, hesitant to break the silence with actual words.

"Draw something you can see out of the window," She instructs me, so I look. There isn't much to see apart from the bed of roses and the old rusting wheelbarrow but everyone else has their head bent low over their paper in concentrations. The usual hum of conversation has dimmed, another sure sign of focus. Here, in Art Studio 11, I feel so much better and that feeling of guilt has lifted. I copy Peggy's stance, eyes trained on the paper, which has been set by my seat ahead of time, head bent low, and a smile on my face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here's chapter 11! Keep commenting, liking, and sharing! We love you guys! 3 - R & S**

CHAPTER 11

 _Alexander Hamilton_

The dorm room is as grey as ever - the color overtakes the space with a sort of gloom, and it serves no purpose to me as I sit in an armchair beside the hearth. At least we have the fireplace. Staring into its multicolored flames is my only comfort in my boredom, but the intrigue of it lasts not even a full minute. I try to think of John, in his classes, with Peggy, who's probably hitting on him at this very moment. John is absolutely clueless, or perhaps in denial, about Peggy. She seems sweet, and a very good friend to him as well, but it's all too obvious that she's longing for something she will never have. John, I've guessed, is gay, and somehow she doesn't know it. I now imagine John in a classroom with Eliza, who is tearful, and I want to kick myself. When I block the image out of my thoughts, the only thing that replaces it is grey walls.

That nurse must have been loopy from the drugs she hands out to kids if she expects me to stay put in this hellhole. It can't hurt to take a break from it - I haven't broken my legs, after all - so I step outside into the hallway. Unsurprisingly, the hall is almost as boring as the interior of the dorm. The dull walls are lighter out here, but the difference in hue is not nearly enough to keep me interested. I venture down the hallway leisurely (I've learned the best way to not get caught is to act confident) like I've got all the time in the world instead of looking left and right for hall monitors. If my calculations are correct, John is in trigonometry now, a class we normally have together. And Eliza, too - I hope she's alright.

The dormitory doors drift past me faster than I could have predicted, and by the time I have a look around, I'm in the middle of the math wing. The classrooms are so close I can hear teachers aggressively explaining math terms in that hysterical way of theirs. I can hear Ms. Lambert finishing up a question posed to the class, and I can picture in my mind her small eyes surveying the students and John darting down his eyes to avoid the teacher. An idea sparks in my mind, and my feet have brought me closer to the door before I have a chance to dismiss it with logic. I twist the metal doorknob lazily, fling the door (heavier than I expected) behind me, and parade into the classroom.

"I HAVE ARRIVED! THEY TRIED TO KEEP ME -"

As soon as bewildered stares hit their target, I realize my error. Too late, of course, I notice that John is _not_ in the classroom. Neither is Ms. Lambert. I turn around, feeling blood rush into my cheeks, and flee the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. It isn't the kind of thrill I was hoping for. The door that truly leads to Ms. Lambert's classroom is across the hallway. Fuck that.

I slip into the correct classroom, too overcome with shame to recover my confidence, and take the empty seat next to John. He doesn't seem to notice my presence, but Ms. Lambert raises a suspicious eyebrow at me.

"I thought you were excused from your classes due to the injury?"

"What's the point of being here if I can't see John?"

The room falls into a tense silence, and even without being able to see the other students even in my peripheral vision, I can tell she shakes her head and returns her attention to the board, deeming my excuse not worth her time. John sends a confused glance in my direction, and I take his hand in my own. He doesn't pull it away, but his skin is icy and stiff against mine.

Since I haven't brought my backpack - the unfortunate result of an impulsive plan - I can't do any work during the class, which ends after only two more minutes of the teacher's explanation. The bell rings and I trail John into the hallway, giving up on holding his hand. He seemed uncomfortable anyway, like he didn't want the class to see, which is ridiculous considering that he was the one who kissed me. It's all part of the plan, which he doesn't know yet. I'm set on making it up to him after being a huge asshole before.

John seems loosened up and more used to my presence on the way to our next class because all of a sudden he falls over laughing.

"You are such an idiot, Hamilton. Let me guess, you got bored so you tracked me down and forgot to bring a backpack?"

I pout because he's exactly right. "Why wouldn't I? I can't stand that room. I missed you." I watch, gleeful, as a pink shadow settles over his cheekbones. It's much more fun being honest than ignoring my feelings. Mostly, it's fun to see him get all flustered and pretend he doesn't care. We travel down the hallway to our next class with our hands swinging by our sides, sometimes bumping into each other. Angelica and Eliza join us as we enter the classroom, and Angelica holds her sister close while giving me a glower that could ward off a vampire with no garlic needed. Eliza's eyes roam anywhere but my face, and it hurts much more than Angelica's venomous glare.

"Well, Hamilton? Here's your chance - take her back." John leans against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest, looking as blindingly attractive as ever.

"When will you learn, Laurens? You are the one that I want." John finally lets a smile creep up his face, illuminating his eyes and stretching his lips into a grin, and I return it. Lafayette sighs, defeated, and presses a twenty dollar bill into Hercules' hand.

 _John Laurens_

You wouldn't have to be a genius to know I am hopelessly charmed, once again, by Alexander. Despite the anger I had felt toward him previously, his coffee=colored eyes and blatant flirting have rendered me helpless. Utterly helpless. As we make our way back to our dorm in silence, I can feel my fingers inching toward his. Itching to take his hand. So I do. Everyone deserves forgiveness, and I don't want to hurt him. His hand is warm, and soft, and weirdly comforting, and I let myself drift toward him, keeping our hands interlocked.

Much to my dismay, I hear whispering behind us, and even if it's not the judgment that first leaps to my mind, I don't want to be disturbed. Because right now, I'm happy, and Alex appears to feel the same delight. A pair of carelessly placed hands push us apart and Alex swivels to meet Lafayette's smile with a glare of his own. A smug looking Hercules leans against the wall, arms folded against his chest. It's more than likely his smirk originated from the twenty dollar bill still clutched between his fingers, but nevertheless I shift my weight from foot to foot in discomfort and drop Alex's hand. He looks at me with a puzzled sort of smile and I meet his eyes with a grin.

"So, boys, when are you planning for your date to be?" Hercules stumbles over his words a bit, like he had planned it in his head in a way that would sound cool but came out just a little bit wrong. Heat rushes to my face and I stumble to to side as sudden panic floods my mind.

"I haven't asked yet, Herc! Don't spoil the surprise!" There is laughter in his half-heartedly hushed tone, and though I know it isn't true, my mind leaps to the thought that they could be laughing at _me_.

"Well, sorry! How should I know?" I look up in time to see Alex aim a playful shove at Hercules and Lafayette keel over in fits of laughter. I have no doubt that pink shadows linger on my cheeks so I angle my head down as I travel the distance between my giggling friends and the welcoming door to our dorm.

The grey walls don't dim the happiness lounging in my heart, although they do provide a much needed break from the usual whitewashed classrooms. To the best of my knowledge, the boys didn't follow me in my escape, so I go straight to my room. The floorboards creak and groan beneath my feet and the sounds feel a thousand times louder, as those sounds usually do when one is home alone. I hear the sound of the lock unlatching and clicking closed again before voices penetrate the silence. I don't think Hercules can help having a loud voice, for his laughter booms above the rest. I push down the smile creeping across my lips and take a seat on my bed, pushing aside sheets and pillows to lean against the headboard instead.

When a text lights up my phone, I feel a wave of nausea pass over my body. The banner across the top of my screen advertises a text from my father and, if I'm being honest, I want nothing more than to leave it alone for the rest of my life. I slide a finger across the text and my phone opens to messages.

"I'm planning to come to visit you, Jack. It's been too long. I should be arriving tomorrow. The school offered me a room for two nights so I can check up on you and meet your friends." I barely have time to finish reading the words across the screen before the door gives way to reveal Alex standing in my doorway, smiling. He must have seen the distress written on my face for his smile falters and he steps into the room tentatively.

"Is everything okay?" He walks to me on careful feet, like his next step could set off a landmine. I put on a smile as he takes a seat beside me on my bed and intertwines his fingers with mine.

"Perfectly fine-" Before I can finish and admit what happened, he interrupts with a question.

"Perfect… so, I should ask this now probably and uh… will you go out with me? Maybe tonight?" His question catches me off guard, and for a moment I just stare at him with a foolish half smile on my face.

"I would love that, Hamilton. But I thought It would be nice to tell you that my dad is coming to visit me… tomorrow." I speak quickly, maybe to quickly but when I finish he's still smiling.

"It'll be an opportunity!" he tells me enthusiastically, almost to assure himself just as much as me. I let my head fall against his shoulder and, keeping a grip on his hand, adjust myself to lean comfortably against the shorter man.

"Probably not, but I'd like to believe it." I let the silence take over so I can just be in the moment with him. I won't let myself think of all that could go wrong because I want to let myself be happy right now.

"I thought it would take longer to win your affections, my dear Laurens." His tone is hilariously formal and when I meet his eyes I can't help but laugh despite his puzzled expression. I feel warm, practically euphoric, and although it may sound cheesy to say, in love. Almost. But there is still that sinking sensation. I wish I could've known about my father's plan to visit me before today so that maybe I could've come up with an elaborate excuse for us being too busy for him to visit this week. Or any week.

"I guess it just comes easy to you, Alex." I try to match his formal tone with little success. I briefly wonder if maybe I should shed light on my nightmare from before and why the thought of my dad's visit brings me dread, but I don't want to ruin this moment for either of us.

"Maybe it does. Or maybe you just can't help falling for me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hope you all are having a nice day! Here are John and Alex's latest adventures. Thanks for the very sweet comments, you guys are the best!**

CHAPTER 12

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I guess I thought acting happy about John's father's visit would somehow transfer the emotion to John himself. I think it's just making him try to pretend to be happy about it, and that isn't working very well. Henry Laurens seems like the kind of man I would have hated back in Nevis. There was hardly any law enforcement on the island. I would see bodies on the streets every day - curled up in alleys, bloodied, showing no sign of life. Imagining John's freckles on their faces after an encounter with his father makes me wish for a brain aneurysm. Whether John is nervous or hopeful about his father's visit, I swear I will not let anything happen to him. Even if it means ending up in the hospital instead of the school's medical wing.

I shoot a fleeting smile at John as I exit the room to get ready for our date. It's not entirely conventional, the way we're doing this. In fact, we're both getting ready at the exact same time across a hallway. I'm not picking him up, and he only has to walk a few feet to show me his outfit. First, I take a shower. The hospital bed, though washed hundreds of times, had a disgustingly clean smell, and it's not ideal for John to breathe in a medical facility while we're kissing. That is, if he doesn't regret doing that in the first place. He probably thinks I'm a sick romantic by now, what with all the declarations of love and suggestion of picnicking at night and stargazing. But, judging by his flushed cheeks and big smiles and resting his head on my shoulder, I don't think he minds it too much.

It feels weird to change clothes because he's seen me in the same khakis and sweater (now with dots of blood on the collar) all day, but I do it anyway. I pick out a pinstripe shirt and skinny jeans and wear a black coat I bought recently that reaches my knees. I spend a moment in front of the mirror - washing my face, carefully applying eyeliner, and forcing doubtful thoughts out of my mind - before stepping into the living room where Lafayette and Hercules seem to be holding a staring contest. John is still in his bedroom, to my dismay, and Laf and Herc look amused.

"Ready for your date?" Laf says in a teasing tone, stumbling into Hercules as he speaks. Herc giggles and playfully pushes him to the side, and soon enough they begin a sloppy fight, complete with hands flopping in the air and muffled laughter. They're obviously drunk, and we don't need more trouble apart from sneaking out after curfew. I glare and lean against one wall, dialing a number I got from Eliza.

"Angelica? Hello? It's Alexander. Yes, I know, and I'm really sorry. I'll talk to her later. Look, Angie - yes I know, then listen to me - Hercules and Lafayette are drunk and John and I are going out tonight… yes, I'm getting to that… I need you to, er, _babysit_ Herc and Laf while we're gone. They're here in the apartment… _please_ , Angelica, you are the only one who can do it… then what will? Thank you, Angelica. You're the best."

I hang up the phone, sighing, just as John emerges from his bedroom. He's wearing a nervous smile on his lips, but I'm not quite sure why in the world he would be nervous. He's stunning - more than stunning. The sight of him makes me want to turn around so I won't stare. It doesn't matter that Hercules and Lafayette (the idiots) are whistling and pointing at us. They'll go to Angelica's dorm - she'll take care of them - and we'll go to the orchard with the blanket I've brought for a picnic. And, if we're lucky, the city lights will dim just a bit for us to see the stars. I place my full trust in Angelica's reliability and knowledge of the dorm number and walk out into the hallway with John's fingers twisted together with mine. We're both cloaked in warm clothes and I'm carrying a large basket. I haven't told him yet of the plan.

A bell rings, signaling that it's 10 o'clock - curfew - and we dodge the eyes of suspicious teachers as I lead him down a path. Empty rooms and ripped posters pass us as we walk through the twisting halls, taking turns and avoiding rooms I've discovered in my solitary travels. He looks impressed when I hold the side door open, releasing the cold night air into the school. The orchard is a few blocks away, and it seems like much fewer as we weave through trees and lessen the sound of our feet striking pavement. We are both clad in black, less likely to be caught, but the adrenaline does not fade. There's no knowing where the police are prowling in the city or whether they'll pardon two lovestruck boys who should be in bed at the boarding school.

The orchard comes into view just as my legs begin to ache and John's grip on my hand weakens. I face him, clumsily take his other hand in my own, and whisper, "We're here."

Then we're running, almost galloping, looping in between the trees and through the apple orchard. We run, connected by only our hands woven together, until we reach a clearing framed by four tall trees and grass in between. I lay down the blanket while John stands beside a tree, arms crossed. I hate how he pretends not to be drawn to me like I am drawn to him. Or maybe that's just my arms aching to hold him. I set out the food, and by the time we're settled against each other, side by side, on the picnic blanket, stars have illuminated the sky. John holds a sandwich in his hand, but his eyes are up in the sky with the stars, and so are mine.

 _John Laurens_

We sit in absolute silence for what feels like hours. fine. The food by my side has gone ignored, for I am captivated by the dazzling night. I can pick out patterns written in the stars, more common constellations. I'm not a genius when it comes to the sky, but I know some of the basic things to search for. But instead of searching I've spent my times alternating between fleeting glances at Alex and staring at the sky, entirely distracted, mostly by thoughts about Alex. He looks stunning tonight. More than enough to distract a weak, lovestruck boy. Sparks of silver reflect off his brown eyes, and make them shine with a different sort of light than I usually see when I look at him.

The blanket bunches about my legs when I move to sit, creating creases and shifting under Alex. He turns to look at me and copies my movement, probably taking notice to how little attention I've begun to pay to the stars. He takes my hands, tangling our fingers together in a loose knot, before breaking the silence.

"Is everything okay?" I nod because everything is _perfect_ and I've never felt happier. The air is cool and crisp and the stars bathe us in a silver light giving everything a regal mien. He's sitting so close beside me that the only space left is occupied by our interlocked hands. Perfect. But instead of this I just nod and let a smile that stretches from ear to ear stretch across my face. He relaxes beside me, letting himself lean into me with his head on my shoulder. The wind whispers around and time passes in seconds and when he tells me that we should start back to the school my heart sinks.

"What time is it?" I ask him, hoping to stall our departure from the glorious scene. I lift the hand that Alex's is not keeping a loose grip on out of the dew-soaked grass and brush the water and grass stains off of the leg of my jeans.

"Twelve…"

His gaze flicks to his watch mid-sentence.

"Thirty-two," he concludes matter-of-factly. I had thought it was much early, maybe around eleven. I fall back against the blanket with a remorse-heavy sigh, and Alex's eyes follow me.

"John," he says. "Sleep is important."

"Tomorrow's Saturday." I hold his gaze as I get to my feet, daring him to challenge that. I'd love nothing more than to stay for hours on end, but thinking of the day to come only brings the realization to mind that tomorrow, along with being the first day of a long weekend, would be the day my dad arrives for his previously announced visit.

"And it's also your dad's visiting day." He joins me standing on the blanket with our hands still tangled together. We step off the edge of the dark wool and Alex folds the blanket into a size small enough to carry, all the while keeping a hold on my hand. I allow him to lead me along the swerving path through the grove without protest. I feel weirdly numb, the rapture from minutes ago having faded almost entirely. Now all I think of is what my dad will say about my progress and what has happened already. I doubt he will be happy. And what will I do around Alex? Pretend I feel nothing for him or just make my father deal with it? Well, either way, I don't need to worry about this right now, I have until tomorrow, although I don't know _when_ tomorrow he is planning to arrive.

"We really can't stay?" We've reached the edge of the treeline now, but I haven't given up hope of a few more hours. Or maybe even a few more minutes. But Alex is already shaking his head when I turn to look once more.

" _John_. Sleep!" His tone is more urgent now but from the look in his eyes, he isn't even remotely tired either. His voice softens as he continues.

"If you really don't want to sleep we can do something back in the dorm, but we're going back. I'm honestly shocked no one has caught us and sent us back already." I like this approach more. It gives me hope that I will have a few hours more of happiness with Alexander before my dad turns the weekend into living hell. And I have no doubt he will. Alex remains one step ahead of me as we travel down a back street to the boarding school. The two of us blend into the night and the dark walls around us and now I'm thankful for the black clothes Alex instructed me to wear tonight. He turns a corner and I follow him. It only now occurs to me that maybe I should've committed the path to memory in case of some event where I might need to find it again.

"Any interest in going out again together sometime?" I say in a sort of inattentive tone.

"Undoubtedly, Laurens." A grin pulls at my lips, but I look away, hoping to hide my smile. He presses the door against the wall, holding it for me to go ahead of him, and hand in hand we walk into the empty dorm. It's almost strange to see front room empty, for it's nearly always occupied by a laughing Hercules or Lafayette, looking sleepily at the door.

I go straight to the couch, flicking on lamps along the wall and against chairs scattered around the room. The cushions are a nice contrast to the hard earth I'd grown used to from hours on a thin blanket under the stars, but the feeling inside is the same when Alex takes his seat beside me. I curl my legs onto the beige fabric cushions and he allows me to lean against him, head tucked into the curve of his neck and hands resting in the small spaces between our legs. His hands find mine and he laces our fingers together as his head moves toward me. His lips have barely touched mine when the door creaks open opposite us. A tall figure stands in the doorway, towering over my height with a scowl set on his face.

"Hi, Dad…" I speak under my breath, far too quiet for him to hear. He's here too early. He wasn't supposed to be at our door till tomorrow. I thought I would have kept things at least neutral between us. It would've only been two days, after all. As he steps farther into the dorm, his glare intensifies, and I am frozen in fear for what is to come next.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

 **Warning: violence**

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I can tell even without looking at him that a cloud of distrust has settled over John. His fingers turn stiff and cold in mine, and his face is as far from mine as possible. I don't even know if he's doing it consciously, but his body language makes it clear that John's father has not been supportive of him. He looks down as he greets his father, but I stare straight at the man. He has dark grey hair that could have once been black and wears a grey suit. He stands, stoic, with his jacket draped over one arm. As soon as Henry's eyes finish appraising the room and turn to John, he narrows them. I squeeze John's hand to reassure him. He may know that his father is merciless, but he needs to know that I will protect him no matter what.

"Who is _this_?" Henry hisses with no hesitation. John strains to wipe the fear from his face as he watched his father's jaw trembling with rage. He forces his hand away from mine and folds it into his other hand. I'm not hurt; I understand.

"This is Alexander. He's my - my roommate." John's voice is forced, and his father's expression does not change. I can't imagine what he must have done to John for them to have this relationship, but when I try to, it's hard to restrain myself against the urge to attack Henry.

"Then why did I catch you two -" His voice stops abruptly, his eyes shooting rays of anger to John, but we get the point. Henry Laurens nearly walked in on us kissing, and that's going to have serious consequences for John. Consequences that were all brought on by _me_. If I am the reason Henry Laurens is now furious at my boyfriend, I will be the reason John does not get hurt.

"That's not what it was. You must have walked in at the wrong time."

"I sure as hell walked in at the wrong time, and I'm damn near sure there wasn't a right time!"

Henry's voice trembles in his fury, and it's lost its low volume. He's shouting now and pointing his finger at John, and I fear that the dorm next to us could hear but not as much as I fear what Henry wants to do to John. Henry turns his head to look at me and plasters on a tight-lipped smile.

"Alexander, would you mind leaving us alone for a bit to catch up?" His eyes scan me up and down with a look of suppressed disgust. "Surely you have friends to stay with for a bit?"

I glance at John, who looks back at me with eyes that beg for help and a fearful frown, then back at Henry with a defiant glare.

"No thank you, sir, I'm staying right here." Henry's hands curl up into fists so tight the skin on his knuckles has turned white. John's eyes have grown even wider as he watches his father advance on me, but I'm not afraid of him. Henry Laurens is a coward too imbecile to bully adults. He's weak to prey on his son, and I can use that weakness to my advantage. The man may be tall and built like a football player, seven inches taller than me, but with the fighting experience I have and my growing loathing for him, I can easily knock him out.

"Stay _out_ of my business with my son." His voice has returned to a growl fortified with disgust and hatred. I stand up to be level with Henry, who has knocked down the coffee table on his way to meet me, and despite his height advantage, I am not intimidated. Not by his fierce frown or his eyebrows that venture low on his forehead. Not by his clenched fists, ready to strike, or his firm stance in front of me, leaving only inches between us. I am not even intimidated by his son, who is curled up at the edge of the couch nearly in tears.

"Never. I love him more than you ever will, and that makes it my business." Without warning, Henry delivers a sharp, painful blow to my head with his palm. I stumble back, but the couch catches me, and with my hand clamped on my cheek, I stand back up to face him. The man wears a satisfied smile on his face like he doesn't expect me to fight back. I catch him off guard by placing both hands on his chest and shoving him with all my strength. He's on the floor now, struggling to push himself back up, and I take the pause to check on John. He's trembling in his seated position, staring ahead with tear-filled eyes. I wish I could hug him and tell him that his father will not hurt him, but Henry is once again standing and aiming for my face with his fist. I duck, but instead of punching me, Henry delivers a very hard kick to my leg. I limp around before collapsing onto the couch in pain. It dances in front of me, spinning the room, and forces my eyes shut. I feel knuckles strike my cheek, the same one that was slapped minutes before, and I contemplate giving up. But, as I pry my eyes open, I see Henry standing in front of John.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I bellow, thinking partially of the possibility that someone might be close enough to hear, but mostly of any way I can distract Henry Laurens. He's shouting at John now, with phrases I can't bear to hear, and I reach out my hand to grab ahold of Henry's leg. I pull with the little strength I have left, screaming and sobbing, but Henry is too strong. He's shaking a fist in front of John's face now, and if I don't have any luck in distracting him, John will get punched in the face. I dive again, my voice now used up to a croak, and beat my fists against Henry's shin. Henry winces in pain, retracts his leg from my grip, and grabs both of John's arms, shaking him as his fingers dig into John's skin and the boy howls in pain.

The door opens with such force that it slams into the wall, and Angelica, Hercules, and Lafayette run inside. Without another look at the situation, Angelica launches herself onto Henry and shoves her fists into whatever part of his body she can reach. Meanwhile, Hercules also launches into action, attacking Henry's face with his fist and kicking him wherever possible. Lafayette shouts at me to call the police before examining John for his injuries.

 _John Laurens_

It's terrifying to see someone dragged away in handcuffs. Especially when the one who has done wrong is close to you. The look on my father's face was one so filled with hatred it made me cower inside. I wanted to shrink away and escape his glare and the hands that held me protectively and the sounds of sirens already fading in the distance. I still feel numb and empty and although Alex is holding me and Angelica sits in the corner of my vision I haven't taken my eyes off the door. And neither has Hercules. He paces in tight circles only inches from the doorstep and he's staring at the handle like he expects it to swivel and give way to the fuming man that attacked. And the door does open, but the face that it reveals is not that of my father - instead of two girls with eyes heavy from lethargy. Hercules snaps to attention, holding a valorous stance to fight off the figures in our doorway. But upon seeing their faces and concerned frowns, he steps aside to let them to me. The static group of three gathered by my side collapses into a nervous scuffle, all but Alexander, who stays unmoving by my side. Peggy breaks away from Angelica's arms to race to the couch, but her movement stops short and she begins a slow advance. I can see the hurt behind her eyes, but for what I don't know.

My nightmares have very literally come true. For my father has discovered my safe haven and broken in to hurt me and the boy I have fallen for. Never did I think the terrors of previous nights would play out so accurately. And still, only Peggy knows the story. Of all the friendly faces filling the room, only Peggy knows the extent of the terror my father brings. She's heard the storylines of the nightmares that plague me, and I know she remembers by the look in her eyes.

"Everybody just shut up!" Alex's voice is commanding and the urgent tone has an instant impact, for the buzz in the room disperses in seconds. I turn to meet his eyes in time to see the satisfied smirk shatter his frown for a moment.

"Look, we all know the story by now and I can't speak for John but I don't think _this_ is helping!" With each word, his eyes flick to a new face. First Angelica, then Lafayette, then Eliza and to my dismay that's where the linger. For the briefest of moments, their eyes lock before he continues.

"I don't mean to rush anyone out, but maybe you should all leave?" He looks at me for confirmation but I keep my face indifferent. It's not that I want them to fuss over the emotions exploding in my mind, but, like Alex said, I don't want to force the girls out of the dorm.

"Or… maybe not… I just…" He meets my eyes again and when I look away he stands. His voice has dropped to a grumble much to low for anyone but me to hear

"I'm getting some coffee." He sets off for the kitchen with six sets of eyes boring into the back of his head. We all sit, or in some cases stand, in silence for a full minute before the blue-clad girl breaks away from her sisters to follow Alex in his quest for caffeine. The thought crosses my mind to go after the pair in the kitchen, but in the end, I only settle back against the couch cushions and let my mind run away.

I wish I could've at least found out what caused my dad to arrive a night early, in lieu of the day he had originally told me. I push those kinds of thoughts out of my mind and make myself focus on positive things. Things like… my date with Alexander. It was sweet and romantic and although the air was chilly I felt warm inside. It occurs to me that I never actually ate anything at our picnic, even though Alex had brought plenty for the two of us.

"John?" Lafayette has begun to tap my shoulder, so I finally give him the attention he has been begging for.

"Peggy left, just so you know." I look up at him with utter confusion because I haven't fully processed his words. When I do, I don't hesitate to spring to my feet. I wonder why my friend would've left the group, aside from the exhaustion she probably felt. I push my worries aside and set off to find myself something to eat that involves as little effort as possible.

"I'm really sorry, Eliza…" Alex's hushed voice grows louder as I start to round the corner. I stop abruptly, the chance of hearing their conversation too good to pass up.

"Then why did you break up with me?" She sounds on the verge of tears but also closer to me than to Alex. I press my body against the wall, hoping to be as close as possible to the words on the other side of the plaster.

"Because I fell in love." He's trying to keep a light tone, give some humor to a conversation that very obviously pains Eliza. I almost feel sorry for her, that is if I didn't feel almost jealous.

"But not with me…" I peer around the door frame to watch Eliza's head bob up and down. Her voice cracks mid-sentence and I can hear the tears again.

"No. Eliza, I-" She swivels on her and meets my eyes with a terrifying mix of anger, jealousy, and overwhelming sadness. I try to duck behind the wooden lining but I've already been spotted by the fuming girl and along with her, Alex.

"John, what do you want?" Eliza's voice comes out as more of a hiss than actual speech. Like a snake. I could imagine her as a snake. She has a vaguely snake-like appearance. Alex looks absolutely indifferent, but it's the kind of indifference that gives me the impression that he is holding back the actual emotions lurking in his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

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CHAPTER 14

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I give Eliza a warning look and soon after meeting my eyes she disappears into the living room with her hands balled into fists by her sides. John's eyebrows are furrowed over his narrowed eyes as he watches Eliza leave. I turn to John, forcing a smile on my face, and tap my fingers on the counter.

"How much did you hear?"

"All… of it." I wave my hand in dismissal. He didn't hear anything he shouldn't have. Except, well, my admitting that I fell for him, but I'm sure he's picked that up by now between the declarations of love and kissing. Probably.

"So!" I say, trying to clear the air of whatever tension present before. "You must be hungry." John stares at me doubtfully, and I give him a questioning look.

"You don't seem like the cooking type." His voice is flatter than usual, but he doesn't seem mad at me - it must be the stress of seeing his father dragged away. I don't blame him, not at all. I snort and glide my arms across the kitchen to retrieve my coffee from the machine. I pour the foamy black liquid into my pale pink mug while staring at John. It's amazing how much I've learned from a few weeks here, but I haven't had any trouble with coffee in the past. It's pretty much the only thing I haven't had trouble with. I made my mother coffee while she cried over my father's departure. Coffee was there for me when I stayed up all night comforting my mother while her body lost the fight against the illness overtaking it.

"Before we begin, Laurens," I say with a smirk, "coffee or tea?"

"Tea." He knows I won't like his answer, and he looks smug because of it. I make a face at him, my nose all scrunched up like tea is something disgusting instead of hot herb juice. Tea's not all that bad, I'm sure, it's just that it doesn't do anything. It barely has any taste, and most kinds put you to sleep instead of giving you energy.

"I'm just going to ignore that. What do you want to eat?"

John shrugs, and I sigh. "We have ramen and…." I pry open the refrigerator door and scour its contents. "Nothing else. Ramen it is?"

He shrugs again, and I start boiling water as a response. The water sits still for minutes, imitating the silence between John and me, before bubbling after a moment, symbolizing the romantic tension between us. I quickly tear open a package of ramen and toss it into an empty saucepan that Hercules probably left on the stove. True to the instructions on the package, I pour the scathing water into the pan and stir it occasionally. I'm so focused on not messing it up for John that I don't notice him staring at me until I look over to check if he's still there. He is in fact there and gazing at me fondly. I smile back at him before returning my attention to the ramen, which, after four minutes, is now ready to serve. I pick a paper bowl apart from the rest of the pile with my fingernails, pour the ramen into it, and slide it across the counter to where John is standing. He brings the first spoonful to his mouth, and before it hits his tongue, I slither past him and kiss him on the cheek. The part of his cheek I kissed is glowing bright red, and I escape the room before he gets too flustered.

As soon as I reach the living room, I stop short. Hercules and Lafayette, oblivious to my presence, are sitting on the couch with their shoulders touching. Lafayette leans closer to Hercules, closes his eyes, and kisses him on the lips.

"No homo, mon ami," he murmurs. Hercules looks stunned but not entirely displeased.

"Full homo," Hercules responds once he's recovered. He urgently grabs hold of Lafayette's hand and kisses him back. I suppress a squeal and return to the kitchen to retrieve John. He's staring into his bowl with unfocused eyes that seem to shine with tears. I pick up his hand from the counter and lace my fingers with his. I lead the confused boy into the other room, where Lafayette and Hercules are passionately kissing. I begin to clap enthusiastically, having released my boyfriend's hand, and John does the same. Hercules and Lafayette split apart, blushing, and their smitten eyes turn to glare at us.

"Fuck you, Jalex," Hercules spits at us.

"Jalex?" John can barely get the word out before bending over, holding his stomach, laughing hysterically. Hercules looks like he wants to laugh, but Lafayette, now standing in front of the couch, is enraged. Hercules stands up, too, revealing his full height - six feet and two inches - and places a calming hand on Lafayette's shoulder.

"It's alright, Laf," he says. Lafayette gives us one last glare before smiling back at Hercules.

I lean into John and give his shoulders a squeeze with my arms draped around him. It's been a long day for all of us, and it isn't even seven in the morning.

"Do you want to get some sleep?"

"Honestly, no. But maybe if you hang in there with me…" He suddenly turns red and backtracks. "Not like _that_ , I mean. Just, you know, if you want to…"

"I'd love to, John." Ignoring Hercules and Lafayette, who are now doing obscene movements mocking us, we enter John's bedroom.

 _John Laurens_

I swivel on my heel and show Hercules and Lafayette my middle finger before Alex and I turn the corner that obscures us from view. I can imagine their faces, scrunched up as they try not to laugh. My face still burns from the embarrassment of the way I backtracked. That had probably never even come to his mind and now, well, now, I don't even want to look at him to spare myself more embarrassment. I scuff my socked feet against the carpet and allow my fingers to find their way to Alex's. I can see his grin in my peripheral vision, a grin so wide it's a shock he's not laughing. Would he be laughing at me? Or the faces of the boys we left behind? Or the way the night has spiraled from euphoric to dreadful to serene? I thoughtfully prod at a thin gap between my teeth as I glide past Alexander to open the door. The door opens into the room and I almost stumble, catching my balance moments before. Yet another reason to be ashamed. Keeping my head down, I press my back against the door to hold it open for Alex.

"Why thank you, Laurens," Alex lilts. In a fluid motion he sends me twirling away from the door then pulls me into his arms, laughing all the while. He kisses my cheek before releasing me from his hold and letting me move to my bed. I sit down and pull the rumpled covers over my legs. I feel the bed shift beside me with the shift in weight as Alex takes a seat beside me. I glance at the clock to get a clue of the time. The blinking digits read 2:18 and suddenly I do feel the exhaustion muddling my brain. But I won't let that distract me from the boy sitting by side. He settles himself against me, leaning his head on my shoulder, and my bed creaks from the movement and the weight of two boys.

"So what do people talk about at two in the morning?" I ask him, nonchalantly. He moves his head from my shoulder to give me a smug, secretive smile.

"Dark secrets. Spooky thoughts. You'd be surprised how weird things people wonder late at night… I mean early in the morning are. Just things we'll _hopefully_ be too tired to remember tomorrow. Or should I say later today." He, shockingly, says this all with a straight face.

"Kidding… um… any plans this weekend?" A grin splits across his face as he proposes a new idea. Although, if I'm being honest, I would've much preferred the dark secrets. Sometimes learning what other people want to keep can be thrilling. Besides, I don't have any secrets of my own for his discovery. When I shake my head his face lights up again.

"Perfect! How about a second date? We could go out for lunch?"

"Sounds incredible." I take barely the time to absorb the question posed before my rushed reply. I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks and I turn away to avoid his amusement at my expense. He nods and once again nestles his skull into the crook of my neck while simultaneously lifting my arm around his shoulders. He clasps our hands together and opens his mouth to start another conversation before I cut in.

"How are things with Eliza?" Maybe he didn't want to recall their recent breakup, but to me, it's important to know that they're at least on good terms.

"Not great, she told me sort of angrily that she knows I'll get sick of you and come running back…" He voice falters but a smile returns quickly when he continues. "But I'm sure she was just angry. And, I won't. Go running back I mean. I like this. I like _you_." His fingers tighten around mine and he meets my eyes with an absolutely dazzling smile.

"Snake," I grumble under my breath. "And, I like you too. Quite a lot actually. You'd be surprised." I lean in, with the sole intent to kiss him but before I can he's speaking again.

"No… not really a snake. That doesn't make any sense… how about A Lizard! Eliza is A Lizard and I'm… Salamander. Because you know that time when I sort or slithered over to you like a reptile? And you… you could be-" His tone is irresistibly excited and I cut him off with a kiss, a real one that this time he doesn't get the chance to avoid. When I pull away he's smiling.

"This… this is why I lo-like you so much. Also, what? Reptile? Where did _that_ come from? I would've called it more snake-like. Alex and Eliza. A couple of snakes."

"I've never heard of a snake with hair. And not a couple," Alexander counters. At this point, I don't know where the conversation is going. I'm not saying I don't like it, but it certainly is weird. And it definitely distracts from the earlier events. The only explanation I can muster is that at this early point, we are both delirious from shock paired with lack of sleep.

"So I get that it's sort of none of my business, but could you tell me any of what your nightmare was like?" He inquires, cautiously. "I mean, I have sort of an idea of what it was based on what has happened and what you told me originally but I'd like some clarification? Or if you don't want to relive it that's perfectly okay"

"It was… sort of exactly what happened tonight. Minus the good parts." I know the explanation is most likely not what he was looking for, but I don't care. I slither down underneath my blankets and peek up at him from the hem.

"I'm going to sleep," I say, hoping to reflect in my tone the laziness I feel. I want him to stay but I'm too nervous that voicing my feelings may make him feel awkward, so instead, I close my eyes and hope he won't leave. But I'm disappointed, for he does leave but not before kissing my cheek and whispering a soft goodnight.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you all for your support and sweet sweet comments! We love you guys so much!**

CHAPTER 15

Alexander Hamilton

I leave John's bedroom with a strong desire to spend at least a few hours sleeping. As soon as I can hear him inhaling and exhaling, however, I can't resist going back to John. There's no way I could trust myself to sleep without worrying if he's crying or having a nightmare. I retrace my steps, back to his bed, careful to keep my footsteps light so I don't disturb him, and settle back down next to him. He rests his head on my chest, and as I watch his eyelids grow heavier, I stroke his hair. It's intensely curly and wild yet also surprisingly soft. His body relaxes against me, and I let my eyelids droop, only hoping that I'll be able to sleep.

Before I have a chance to sleep, the days events flash before my eyes. My date with John was perfect - the best moment I've yet experienced with him - and I do not regret standing up to his father one bit. It's excruciating to think that that man has been around John since before I have. I wish John could have had someone who loved him instead of such a monster. Someone like me. If I had been there - hell, if I had even seen him once in the subway - I would have dropped everything to help him. There is not a thing I wouldn't give up to have known him when he was a child. John Laurens, _my_ John Laurens, has scars, both physical and emotional, even the fiercest love cannot smooth over.

When the light streaming in through the window becomes too strong to ignore, I open my eyes. John is still slumped over by my side, his arms clutching my waist, and for once my head is above his. John is fighting the sunlight, lazily waving his hand around and squeezing his eyes shut, and I've never seen anything cuter. I place a finger on his left eye and lift his eyelid.

"Good morning," I say to him. He swats away my finger.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"NO!"

I laugh. I didn't actually expect him to say yes. Maybe, if it were night again and not the middle of the fucking morning just after he woke up, he would have a different response. I think he hates me, so I escape his arms and slide off the bed. John makes a sound that could be a grumble or a moan of pain, and I stop walking.

"What's wrong?"

"Come back, Lexi."

"I didn't expect a nickname so soon," I say with a smirk. I'm sure he doesn't appreciate this much teasing so early in the morning. If it even is early. I flip my wrist to reveal the watch on it - it's 10:32. My breath speeds up and my heart pounds in my chest before I realize that it's Saturday. We aren't late to school, thank God.

"John, we should get up."

"Why?" I sigh. John is not usually unreasonable, but I suppose mornings do weird things to people. I abandon the effort and migrate into the kitchen. There, my beautiful coffee machine awaits, and as much as I want to use it right away, I hear strange sounds coming from the living room. I pick up a bowl off the counter - the first thing I can find - and creep into the next room. There is no sudden movement in the room, but the sound continues - a strange monotoned noise that starts low and grows louder. I raise the bowl above my head, prepared for battle, and enter the room. Wow. Hercules and Lafayette lie on the hardwood floor literally piled on top of each other in their full outfits from the previous day. Hercules' head lifts slightly every time his snores reach a climax. I resist the urge to wake them up, therefore bringing upon myself an entire dorm of people who hate me (a football player, a Frenchman, and a Southerner), and retreat to the kitchen.

Back in the kitchen, I am not only accompanied by my beloved coffee machine. John Laurens casually leans across the counter with his hands tapping nonchalantly on the surface. The coffee machine is running and there is a brightly colored mug beneath it. For almost a month I have gotten up first and made coffee without any disturbance in this boarding school. Now, John, my new greatest enemy, is using _my_ coffee machine. You know, the one I dragged across the ocean to shitty old New Jersey just so _he_ can use it. I thought we had accepted that I am always to use the machine first because it is _my_ possession. Apparently, John saw it fit to break this unwritten rule.

"Good morning, Alex." Not only is he using my coffee machine, he has gotten completely dressed in the few minutes since I left his bedroom. I spent the night with him, and I didn't even have to. Ungrateful prick.

"Shut the _fuck_ up." He appears to be unfazed.

"How does my coffee look?"

I grit my teeth. "Just like you - the best thing I've ever seen." I feel my face drain of all color. I had meant it to be an insult, but instead, I accidentally voiced how I really feel about his appearance today. Goddamnit.

 _John_ _Laurens_

"Aw, thanks, Lex." My lips twist into a proud smirk as I remove the brightly colored mug from its place on the machine. "You look pretty nice too - messy, but nice," I tease. I offer him the steaming mug, and he stares blankly at it for a moment, not realizing that this whole time the coffee has been for him. The look on his face was priceless though. I inch my hand forward, moving the mug with it, in an attempt to get him to take it from me. The mug has begun to burn my hand. He takes it and I step back, keeping a smirk on my face.

"Lucky you, I didn't take it for myself. And about that question you asked earlier…" For a moment I consider saying "yes," but I don't want to risk embarrassing myself if he really didn't mean it. "Sorry I yelled," I say instead.

"Does that mean you really meant no?" He looks at me inquisitively while I struggle with an answer.

"I'm… I'm going to, um… say hi to Hercules…" I stumble backward awkwardly while Alex laughs his head off. Maybe I should've taken the coffee for myself.

Upon leaving the kitchen, it isn't hard to find the other two boys. They're sitting in total silence on the couch, facing away from each other and staring blankly into space. In all, they look entirely exhausted to an extent that makes me wonder if they actually slept _at all_. When I move to sit between them, they simultaneously turn to me.

"Good morning, John," Lafayette pipes up with a tired smile. Hercules slings a friendly arm around my shoulders.

"Morning… Lafucles… er…. Hercayette. Wow, okay. You two have shitty ship-names," I say, in reference to the pair referring to Alex and me as "Jalex". I immediately regret it once I lay eyes upon the expression Hercules gives me that makes him look like he wants to slit my fucking throat. Faced with the choice between two angry people, I go back to Alex. I believe he's less likely to hurt me when annoyed. At least Alex claims he loves me. I slide across the polished floorboards, trying to imitate an ice skater, and into the kitchen. Alex stands against the wall, cradling his cup of coffee close to his chest with his head bent over it. He looks like he might fall asleep any minute.

"Feeling better? More alive once you've had your coffee?" I settle next to him, back pressed against the wall. He gives me an annoyed smile, but after a moment of silence, he nods.

"I don't know _how_ you can _prefer tea_. Disgusting. You know, Laurens, I might have to break up with you for that…" He notices my frown and quickly backtracks. "Kidding. That would be stupid, but really…"

"I don't, your face was when I said that was funny though. Speaking of funny, would you like to tell me how our conversation turned to reptiles last night?"

"No. And can we agree never to speak of that again?"I chuckle at his panicked expression and nod. It wasn't one of his best moments. I kind of half-hoped that our moonlit conversations would be more thought-provoking and deep… maybe even romantic. But, alas, a sleepy Alex is even less sane than usual. I hope he wasn't too put off by my early-morning attitude. I'm a bit more filled with salt in the early hours. I mean, if 10 AM counts as early. Alexander is more protective of his coffee than anything else in his life, as far as I can tell. His eyes only stray from his mug when my fingers get too close. If I were as jealous as Eliza, perhaps I would envy the cup of coffee.

"Aw, c'mon, I wasn't going to take it." I reach for his hand again, and this time he lets one hand fall from the bright edge of the cup to meet mine.

"Better safe than sorry," he says, very solemnly.

"You… you have an addiction…"

"You're one to talk, Laurens. If I didn't know better, I would say you were obsessed with me."

"Well, you should know better. I don't obsess over people. Only various books and musicals." I wink at him and reach forward with my free hand, aiming this time to take the mug from him, but he quickly drops my hand and clutches the coffee protectively. It's occasionally frustrating to date someone who values coffee over a human life.

"Lexi." I flash him sad eyes. He blinks, working hard to keep his face indifferent, but then his expression softens

"Stop! Stop that - that face!"

"Stop what, Lexi? I don't know what you're talking about," I say in a voice smooth as a salamander's skin.

"UGH!" I slither forwards to kiss his cheek, but he scuttles away, grinning.

"You sure you don't want to be my boyfriend? 'Cause you're sure acting like you do."

"I never said I didn't want to. Oh, wait. I did. When you woke me up! But clearly, I wasn't thinking because how could I say no to that…"

Alex's smirk morphs into a genuine, extremely happy smile. He, shockingly, sets his coffee cup on the counter and leans over to hug me. Halfway through his movement, he stops because I have already snatched his coffee and succeeded in kissing his cheek.

" _Motherfucker,_ " I hear him mutter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Aaaaand here's another one!**

CHAPTER 16

 _Alexander Hamilton_

Monday is Fashion Disaster Day, but, between Henry Laurens' hearing and our new status as boyfriends, John and I have completely forgotten. I'm sure we would have gone most of the day oblivious to it if Hercules and Lafayette hadn't waited for us in the morning. Once John has stumbled out of his bedroom, yawning and with dark shadows under his eyes but awake, we meet our roommates in the living room. Hercules dons a tie-dye beanie and a polka-dotted sweatshirt, Lafayette a hideous Christmas sweater with an image of the French flag, and me, a reddish-brown polo and khakis. John isn't in an outfit any more disastrous than mine. Hercules and Lafayette first evaluate each other's outfits and then turn to us looking disappointed.

"Bro," Hercules says dejectedly.

"Uhm… what?"

"Your - your clothes." Hercules points a limp finger at my shirt.

"My clothes? What about them?"

"It's outfit disaster day," Lafayette explains, more of a question than an explanation. Realization strikes John's face and looking back, I can sort of recall posters with mismatched patterns on them. Lafayette and Hercules suddenly bound out of the dorm with their hands - laced together - swinging between them. John glances at me and I return his bewildered look. Why would they be _so_ excited to leave all of a sudden? Then, it dawns on me. If Hercules Mulligan, known fashion fanatic, is wearing a rainbow beanie and a polka-dotted hoodie, I can only imagine what everyone else must be wearing. I shoot John a grin and grab his hand before following Hercules and Lafayette's path out of the dorm.

The only students we see are Peggy, Maria, Eliza, and Angelica, who are making their way to their first class from the girls' dorms on the other side of the school. Angelica has painted the longest eyeliner wing I've ever seen on her face and wears an aquamarine tutu over leggings with a zig-zag pattern. The top half of her body is cloaked in an oversized brown blazer. She looks absolutely ridiculous, and if it were anyone else, I would claim it's worse than a disaster. But with the confident, hip-swinging way she's walking - like she owns the damn place - I know she's gone all out and is very proud. Peggy, connected to Angelica by her hand, is wearing a neon yellow cape. A full-length, floor-length, who-the-fuck-let-you-out-of-the-house cape. She glares down at my hand, clutching John's, but I don't drop it. If I take criticism from a girl who wears a fucking bright yellow cape to school, I don't deserve to be with John. Even John, who previously was under the impression that this girl can do no wrong, knows she seriously messed up.

Maria and Eliza hang back at the back of the group, and I don't get close enough to them to see their outfits. Eliza makes a point to avoid letting her eyes look my way, and it's much better than listening to her cold, unfeeling voice. I hope she's accepted that I will never come running back to her. Not to save my life.

"Hi," Peggy says, looking directly at John and not at all at the rest of us. She breaks off from Angelica's side, who know looks very annoyed upon seeing us, and offers a hand for John to take. When he ignores it, she links her elbow with Angelica's without comment. Isn't it fucking awesome to be in a group where the majority currently hates me?

Hercules and Lafayette discuss whatever excites them at this moment, but other than that, the group is silent. As we approach the language hallway, Angelica, Maria, and Peggy break off from the group. Unlike the other two, Maria waves at me with a friendly expression, and I'm glad to see it. Hercules and Lafayette continue their giggle-inducing conversation right up until Madame Bernard greets us.

"As you may have heard, this week is school spirit week," she says in French. "Today is fashion disaster today, and that may explain why your classmates are looking like they just walked out of an alcoholic circus. Others of you, however, have failed to meet the expectation. Oh well; there's always tomorrow." The class refrains from mentioning Madame Bernard's lack of participation. I suppose she thinks that teachers are exempt from displaying school spirit.

My next class is Biology, which, I've now realized, I have with Thomas Jefferson and his clique. Well, half of his clique. If Madison, Adams, Monroe, and Burr were all in the class, the only reason I would be learning biology would be to know how to dissect his body after I murder him. Mr. Clarkwood pays no heed to the students' outfits, and, for half of the period, neither do I. I only look up from my textbook when Thomas launches himself out of his seat to demonstrate an illustrious point. Apparently, he expects the audience to be so engrossed in his knowledge that they won't notice his outfit. The fucker is wearing a literal One Direction t-shirt. You know, the teenage dreamboat boy band of boys who can't make good music for all the money in the world. Perhaps this would be just another Jeffersonian shenanigan if he were wearing nice, respectable pants like jeans or khakis or even sweatpants. But no, the Southern motherfucking Republican has decided on a leather kilt. A leather, knee-length kilt that leaves his hairy legs bare for all the world to see. Of course, Thomas would be much too cold in that outfit, so walking out the door, he thought to throw on a floor-length magenta puffer coat.

 _John Laurens_

I shouldn't have put it past Thomas to wear a One Direction shirt. I wouldn't even have been surprised if he enjoyed the band. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Alex's look of disgust aimed at the fanboy. I take hold of his hand, and he looks at me as a grin splits across his face.

"One Direction?" he whispers, shifting his hand in mine. It's all I can do not to laugh, both at Thomas' ridiculous fashion choices and the look on my boyfriend's face.

"Boys, is there a problem?" The teacher's voice rings out through the classroom, and when I look away from Alex's smiling face, he's staring intensely at our table.

"Nope," I say, cooly, at the same time that Alex says, "Yes, Mr. Clarkwood, there is. And he's wearing a magenta puffer coat that reaches the floor." The class howls, cackles, and shakes with laughter. I'm silent by Alex's side, fearful of the punishment that, inflicted on Alex, may affect us both. Hercules and Lafayette are repeating his line over and over again, each time with words missing in their unobstructed laughter. In a room full of very amused people, I can't help but let a giggle escape past my lips. Alex's mouth remains in a perfectly straight line for the whole time except when Mr. Clarkwood turns around to quiet the class, and he smirks at me.

"Mr. Hamilton, that is no way to talk about your classmate!" Mr. Clarkwood shouts. His voice wavers, and I wonder if it's from fury or trying not to laugh. Thomas is glaring at me despite my innocence. Perhaps he thinks I'm foolish enough to fight him, and perhaps he's correct.

"I don't know what you mean." Alex's attempt play dumb has completely failed due to his awful comeback. "I just don't… like magenta. Or people idiotic enough to wear it." The whole class falls apart, laughing uncontrollably, some collapsing into coughs.

"That was bad," one girl mumbles from somewhere near our table.

Mr. Clarkwood shoots a last venomous glance at the two of us before turning back around and walking briskly to the board at the front of the room. Jefferson shakes with fury on the other side of the room while Madison rubs his back, and I make a mental note to avoid him after class. We don't need a third fight here.

"So," Mr. Clarkwood shouts over the lingering giggles. "Natural selection." I notice that his voice is a bit colder than usual. I think he's overcompensating for being a tiny bit amused by Alexander's comment. The class continues, thankfully, without another outburst from Alex. Thomas trembles in his chair with his face all twisted up, and I wonder what's going through his mind right now. As soon as the bell rings, Alex glances at Hercules and suddenly bolts out of his seat. I try to follow him, but his feet propel him faster than I could ever manage. He seems to be going into an unfamiliar hallway. I would chase after him, but I don't really want to seem needy. I wait at the door for Hercules and Lafayette.

"Do you know where Alex went?" I ask them once they reach the hallway. Eliza purses her lips. Lafayette guiltily glances over at Hercules like they both know what is happening but want to keep it from me. There's nothing more aggravating than two of your best friends who know what your boyfriend is up to but refuse to tell you. My hands clench into fists of their own accord.

"No, I… er, I don't. Did he just run off…?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's run off to see someone else. He seems like the type to cheat."

The rest of us stare at her with our mouths hanging open. Even Maria looks offended. I don't believe that Alexander would ever cheat, but he did kiss me when he was supposed to be going out with Eliza… And the way he frantically sprinted out the door, ignoring my cries of his name… it was like he was hiding something so desperately he had to run in order to do it. What could Alex possibly want to hide from me? The only thing I've ever kept from him is my dream about my father, but that was because it was much too painful to relive. And who would he be seeing, anyway? Someone I don't even know? Or one of my friends, betraying me? The thoughts blur my vision with their mistrustful nature. No, no, of course not. Alex would never, I try to convince myself.

When I return to the conversation, everyone is trampling all over each other. They are yelling and pointing and stomping their feet at Eliza. After only a few seconds of trying to raise her voice above the commotion, tears formulate in her eyes and her head drops down.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. It's quite different from her normal hiss. "John, you didn't deserve that. And neither did Alex. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch. I deal with pain in all the worst ways." Maria rushes forward to comfort her, and Eliza rests her tearful face on Maria's shoulder. I open my mouth to address her, but no words rise to the surface.

Maria continues to comfort Eliza all the way to the cafeteria. Eliza apologizes furiously and sadly to each of us and promises it will never happen again. I truly hope she will stand by her words and the old Eliza, the sweet and harmless one, will return. We claim a long, rectangular table n the middle of the cafeteria. Hercules and Lafayette are the most unattentive of us, glancing back and forth and scanning through the cafeteria. They're probably on the look-out for Alexander, and maybe I should be too, but thinking about the way he ran from me settles a weight on my heart. Angelica straddles the bench next to me and chats about anything she can think to say. It works for a while, and we both ignore Peggy's concern, but when Alexander's footsteps grow close to our table and Peggy jumps up with hatred clouding her eyes, Angelica falls silent.


	17. Chapter 17

**Here's chapter 17! Thank you so much, again, for supporting us. I am speaking for both my co-writer and I when I say that we love writing this story and sharing it with you.**

CHAPTER 17

 _Alexander Hamilton_

John Laurens and the others look incredibly tense once I've reached their table. It either means that something has happened or that Lafayette and Hercules have kept my secret. Knowing the people who sit at the table, it's probably both. Eliza's face is red and her eyes are puffy with evaporated tears, but she smiles when she sees me. It's confusing and comforting at the same time. Peggy doesn't know where to look, so her eyebrows shoot up and down as she shifts her gaze from me to John and back again. Angelica has a hand on Eliza's back and murder in her eyes, and I'm glad I've chosen to approach the table from the opposite side. Maria also has a hand placed on Eliza's back, and she looks up at me with a question in her eyes. John gives me a half-smile once he sees me and leaps up from the bench. Eliza is at my side at once, and a million words leave her mouth before I have a chance to process even one.

"Alex-I'm-so-sorry-I've-been-a-horrible-person-you-never-should-have-asked-me-out!" Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, and I put a hand on her arm to steady her. The package behind my back slips, but I catch it with my other hand at the last moment,

"Look, Eliza, I'm sorry too. I broke up with you in a terrible way. I will never forgive myself for hurting you." John bounces around, impatient, by my side. I give Eliza one last smile before turning my attention to John.

"Where were you?"

"Outside." I can tell John wants to know more, but instead of providing him with more information, I reveal the flowers behind my back. A bouquet of red and yellow roses with a blue ribbon keeping them together. John grins and leans forward to smell them. I hold them out for him to take, but a hand reaches forward and snatches them out of my hands. Peggy throws them to the tiled floor with shaking hands.

"John doesn't like roses!" John is in disbelief too heavy to respond. Peggy casts a mournful glance at John, begging him to back her up (but why would he?), furiously wipes a tear before it can escape her eye, and exits the cafeteria.

"You don't?" I can't meet his eyes. What I hoped would be a well-received romantic gesture has turned out to be a big flop.

"Of course I do. And even if I didn't, Hamilton, I like you." He takes a step closer, and my stomach drops far enough to make everything blurry except for his eyes. "That's enough to make me happy." Brown and pure and all that I need right now to forget about Peggy. Forget about Hercules. Forget about Eliza, as much as I hate to, and forget about anything other than John's freckled face which gets closer and closer. Inches away from my face, he bends down to retrieve the flowers. There are petals strewn across the floor, but the roses aren't damaged. John's face reappears before mine a moment later. Now, his lips have my attention.

"Woah, woah, boys," Hercules yells, waving his hands exaggeratedly. "Save it for the dorm." He drops his disciplinarian act for a moment to wiggle his eyebrows up and down. Angelica sets off to find Peggy, and Eliza looks guiltily after her but stays in her seat.

"I just - I just wanted to ask you if you want to go ice skating with me next Saturday."

John nods with a shy smile, and I lead him by the hand back to the table. A little bit of eating, less talking than before, and no more storming off later, and the lunch period ends.

"You have no idea how much I'd like to just head back to the dorm," Hercules groans over the bell. Lafayette mutters something to him, and Hercules nods. They both swing their backpacks onto their shoulders and head off into a hallway that doesn't lead to our next class. As tempted as I am to follow them, I stay with John. There are just a few more benefits that lie with him.

John slips me a note across the table within the first seven minutes of class, and though the last thing I want is for the teacher to notice my wandering eyes, I can't suppress the smile that stretches my lips to the far sides of my face.

" _I'm bored."_ John's handwriting is neat, but my hasty reply is not. " _Me too,"_ I manage to scribble without alerting the teacher to my disobedience. I drop my pencil and lean down to pick it up while using one hand to slip the folded paper into John's open hand. He grasps it, but before he can read the message, Mr. Greene strides over to our table.

"Do you have an answer, Mr. Hamilton?" I stutter out a no, but he has a calm persistence.

"Do you know when Saratoga, New York was burned down?"

"It was 1745," an obnoxious voice interrupts. "Of course he wouldn't know, he was passing notes with his boyfriend." Mr. Greene, I've noticed, when angered, won't do anything more than aim a glare in my direction.

 _John Laurens_

I clutch Alex's note tightly between my fingers, keeping the crumpled notebook paper hidden in my hand. Although I have passed notes in Greene's class before, I haven't been caught, and I honestly have no clue what he would do if he even noticed the paper Alex handed me. When the tall teacher turns his back I pry my fingers apart enough to read the words scrawled in his messy handwriting. " _Me too"._ I grin at him and bend my head over the paper to write back.

"Maybe he was, but it isn't your place to punish him." Mr. Greene turns to give Alex and me a stern look. "It's mine." I retract the paper into my hand, tightening my fingers around it again until the teacher has turned his back.

I slide the paper, which now holds my message of " _This teacher sucks,"_ across the table while my hand covers it. A smirk plays across Alex's face at the words, and he nods at me as he begins to write again. I don't even bother to focus on Mr. Greene's words while I wait for Alex to slide the note back to me; instead, I watch the pencil as Alex scribbles on the paper. " _Meet me in the woods at 9_." I look up from the note to show him my confusion, but he's staring intently at the rambling teacher. " _Why?"_ I cup my hand over the folded paper and slide it toward Alexander. He begins to write his what I assume is his reasoning, but he doesn't get the chance to pass it along before Mr. Greene has snatched the paper from his hands. His lips move silently through the first few phrases before he speaks.

"This teacher sucks." He glances from me to Alex with his eyebrows raised. "Meet me in the woods at 9. Why? I'll tell you, meet me in the hall. Just ask to go to the nurse…" He reads aloud in a voice strong enough for each member of the class to hear. "Well, this certainly is interesting." Alex meets his glare, entirely unfazed by the class that has begun to giggle and whisper inaudibly. "Why are you disrupting my class, Mr. Hamilton?" Thankfully, my contribution to the distraction has gone without scolding for the time being. As another stroke of good luck, the bell rings loudly over Mr. Greene's following phrase.

"Saved by the bell," Alex whispers to me as he struts past. He slings his bag onto his shoulders in the way that those kids who are _trying_ to look cool do so often. I race after him, excited to learn what he could've planned involving the woods at nine o'clock at night, dangerously close to curfew.

"So do you plan to tell me now?" By now, the halls have mostly cleared as teens rush off to their next classes. But Alex and I remain in the hall outside History. From inside the classroom, I can hear Mr. Greene shuffling across the carpet, probably tidying the mess his classes throughout the day have made.

"I… just thought a nighttime adventure could be fun. With everything going on, a short break to be lost in our imaginations is probably much needed?" His request comes across as more of a tentative question, and for a moment I am skeptical. I consider how risking another night out past curfew could only result in trouble. And how over this weekend I got next to no sleep. But, the look on his face in innocent and incredibly compelling, so I give him the answer he wants.

"I think that would be…" I pause, both for the dramatic effect and the hopeful look taking over his face. "Absolutely amazing." And I hope it will be. I'd love nothing more than to spend time with him, and, on second thought, a distraction from the weekend events would be _incredible_. "I can't wait." My fingers twitch toward his, and he cuts my debate of whether to take his hand by entwining our fingers together. I start off to psychology, but Alex stands immobile, holding me back from advancing by our joined hands.

"Everything okay?" The second bell rings loudly, cutting off my last word, but, evidently, Alex heard because he's already nodding.

"I just wanted to clarify to you that earlier when I ran off, I was-"

"Oh you don't have to, you already told me you went-"

Alex disregards my protest and speaks over me.

"-getting you roses from the garden, ask Hercules and Lafayette - they knew. I just thought I should let you know because someone told me that when I ran off Eliza said she wouldn't be surprised if I was cheating on you and I wanted to just make it clear I'm not and never will." Alex ends his long-winded rant with a heavy exhale. I step back, crossing the space between us to kiss his cheek.

"Oh, trust me," I tell him. "I didn't believe her." But, I'm sad to say, at first I did. Of course, I would never actually let Alexander know that because it was a stupid idea that I never should've pondered. The smile that lights up his face from ear to ear is more than worth my little lie.

Right now, the only downside I can imagine (to almost anything involving Alexander) is the questions about Alex's idea that I have no doubt will inhabit my mind for the rest of the few periods remaining in the day. Already I can't shake the excitement for our adventure he requested.

So, with my mind buzzing with elation, Alex and I set off down the empty hall for psychology with identical smiles on our faces and our hands tangled in a loose knot.

"Only you, Laurens," he states out of the blue.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

 _Alexander Hamilton_

"You do realize, Thomas, that you are wearing a One Direction shirt and leather skirt-"

"Kilt, it's called," the idiot interrupts. He doesn't realize his error in wearing the outfit.

"As if I care," I continue. "A leather _kilt_ , then, and a magenta long, long, long coat tied around your waist as you are trying to make your point."

The Broken Hearts united club - plus Eliza, John, and me - are huddled around a table facing Thomas and his minions. Burr scoffs.

"Look at what you're wearing, Hamilton," he spits. "I don't think anything could scream 'doesn't belong here' more."

Fury broils inside of me, and my body completely tenses up. I'm aware of John's grip on my shoulder, ready to hold me back, and I'm even more aware of Burr's smug expression. If he's proud of degrading me and my origin, maybe I'll be proud when my fist connects with his face. I can just picture him, lying on the floor, bloody, regretting his comment -

John's grip on my shoulder digs into my skin, and I let out a yelp. Once I've been brought back to reality, I realize that I'm poised over the table, about to strike Burr. Madison is laughing into his handkerchief. John pulls me back to my seat and, with a grimace, I control myself. Thomas observes me proudly, and I have a strong desire to rip out his throat.

"Hey, hey," John murmers, trying to calm me down. I'm sure he would react the same way in this situation, and I doubt I would console him. John's steadying touch effectively dims my searing anger, and I lean back in the chair with my hands folded on the table.

"And why have you decided to plague us with your presence?"

"Ask McKinney."

But Mr. McKinney doesn't seem to be offering any insight as he paces around the classroom, peeking over the shoulders of various students. Thomas shrugs with a smile and stretches out in his chair, spreading his limbs like he owns the place. I roll my eyes at him. I hate group projects.

"You're adorable."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Four, apparently," he mutters. I smile, and he does too. I'm smiling so wide my cheeks start to hurt, and his smile includes two perfect dimples. I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine back, and it continues on like this until he starts laughing, which gets me laughing, and then I have to shush us both by pressing a finger to John's trembling lips. It's nearly 9:30, according to my watch, and past curfew. It's the second time, and I'm not sure if that makes us less or more likely to be caught. The air is thick and dark and I can barely see the sidewalk beneath me, but I know his fingers, laced together with mine, are smooth and light brown (the color cowards like their coffee). And his eyes are the hue of a tree trunk worn away by rain and wind. And I see clearly, through the fog and darkness, that I love him.

"What was that?" The sound of the metal ceases as soon as it begins.

"Trash can," John whispers. The street is deserted except for a store with a neon sign that reads " **OPEN."** John points in its direction like my eyes won't already be drawn to the lights.

"An old man owns that. He's there all the time and won't mind us being out of the school." The walk to the store is short but trying. The cold air poisons our skin despite our jackets. As soon as John pushes open the golden brown wooden door, the warmth of the store floods us. An elderly man seated in a rocking chair with a book balanced on his knees looks up as soon as we enter, and John lets go of my hand. I don't have to look at him to know why. People like us can't assume we're safe here, even if John has known the store owner for years. But the man has seen our linked hands, and, comfortingly, he smiles.

"Brought your boyfriend?"

"Y-yes, sir." The man lets out a hoarse chuckle and lifts a hand from the book's pages to wave away John's words.

"Don't call me sir. Chester's just fine." Chester beckons us over to the circle of chairs surrounding a fireplace. I settle on the floor close to the flames, marveling in its warmth and the way my eyes burn when I lean too close.

"So what, exactly, do you sell here?"

"Antiques. Books, toys, a few dresses. Saved 'em from my grandmother's closets back in the day or gifted from friends." I smile and nod politely. John and I browse the store with our eyes for a few minutes before Chester speaks again.

"A storm's coming. Might want to get back to the school." Panic bubbles in my stomach and threatens to burst open my throat and pour out all my fear. I swallow it down, and John looks at me.

"We should," he says in a low voice. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I do, it might come out like a whine or a whimper. John's hand rejoins mine as we leave the store and the village surrounding it in favor of the school. I stamp out the worries that fill my head with reassuring thoughts. _It won't be a bad one. We'll make it in time. John won't mind if I go to my room for the night._

 _John Laurens_

Alex's knuckles have gone white. His grip on my hand is strangling as he rushes me down the deserted sidewalk. Clouds obscure the moon from our view, but still, every few seconds Alex's eyes trail to the storm brewing above our heads. The air smells the way it does just before a storm. Like rain and electricity, and the breeze blows strong against our faces.

"How much longer?" Alex's voice cuts through the silence like a knife, and although he may be trying to mask it, I can hear the agitation behind his tone.

"About five minutes." To contrast his fear and steady his nerves I keep my voice even and calm. "We'll be back before the rain at the least." This time, he doesn't try to hide the relief that washes over his face. By now I've come to the conclusion that something has stirred a severe fear of storms, but it never hurts to ask.

"Um, Alex, are you afraid of thunder, or…" He looks at me with an incredibly cocky grin, plastered on like a mask, and scoffs.

"Of course not." His statement is proved to be a blatant lie, for as thunder shakes the air and white light splits across the sky, Alex cowers against my chest. His grip on my hand is cutting off my circulation now, but I don't make any move to pry our fingers apart. Whatever he needs to feel safe, or at least _safer_ , I will completely comply.

"We're not going to get back before it starts are we," he whispers. Despite the drops beginning to fall in slow succession, I shake my head. He looks up at my face from his position huddled against me and drop hits him square in the forehead.

"We are. It's barely raining." In hopes of providing him comfort, I offer a smile which he mimics without hesitation.

The two of us break into a run, connected still by our linked hands. Alex pulls ahead, the intensity of his fear driving him forward at a quicker speed than I can muster. It's funny what fear does to people. The way it can impel them on with inhuman vigor.

The sky opens up, drenching Alex and me along with every exposed inch of pavement as far as the eye can see. Which isn't all that far through the torrential downpour. I struggle to keep up, slipping on drenched leaves and clearing millions of raindrops from my eyes to no avail, and eventually Alex slows. The school looms ever closer. We cut through the grass, slipping and sliding, but still making good time. I rench the door aside to make way for Alex, and, hand in hand, we ascend to our dorm.

Beyond the closed door, I can hear the giggles of our roommates over some inaudible topic. Both Alex and I are soaked to bone and shivering even beneath our coats. Alex gives me knowing smile and shakes his head, as if to say that it's more than likely stupid, but it shatters at another crack of thunder. He jumps and slips through the space between the frame and the door.

"Damn, how did that happen?" Hercules' greeting only makes me roll my eyes. It's pointless and something that at only a glance out the window would be incredibly easy to answer for himself.

"Hello to you too, Hercules." I heave a sigh past my lips and settle my doused jacket onto a hook mounted on the wall. Alex's hand slips from mine and he darts from the room and down the hallway that leads to our rooms. My eyes follow him till he has left my line of sight, but even then I can hear his wet footsteps plodding across the wood.

"Where did you lovebirds go?" Lafayette lilts. I give him an annoyed frown but, nevertheless, a smile creeps across my face in remembrance of the time we spent together. It had been fun until the unwanted announcement of the storm.

"The woods. We walked around town… went to a nice little store. Have you meet Chester? He really is lovely." I can feel the heat creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks. Luckily, the boys have felt the living room dark save for a lamp close to Lafayette's head. The two speak simultaneously with statements so similar I would've thought they planned it.

"Sounds spicy," Hercules states, while Lafayette giggles out aloud,

"Sounds snazzy!"

I roll my eyes at the cackling couple and set off for my room. My mind wanders back to Alex, wondering briefly how he's holding up against the raging storm.

My worries are cut short however, for only moments after settling against my pillows, my door flies open. Alex stands before me, eyes wild with fear. The look in his eyes is haunting, and I wish I could say unfamiliar. I know that, at the very least, I have worn that same look.

"C-can I stay with you for a few minutes?" He stammers. I nod and open my arms, which he crawls into with a grateful half-smile. I steal a glance at the window, just to make sure the blinds have been closed to block out the lighting illuminating the dark world outside of our walls.

"As long as you need, Alex." We sit there for what feels like hours, not speaking. I did try to strike up a conversation but each attempt was shot down and soon I gave in to let him do what _he_ knows will be most comforting. As time goes on, I can only think how much I wish I could lift his pain away. Seeing him like this, weak and terrified, makes me more than anything yearn to comfort him. But the one clear thought I have formed is that I am hopelessly in love with Alexander Hamilton.


	19. Chapter 19

**We love our readers so much! You guys are so sweet :) Thanks for everything! Warning: scary memories :(**

CHAPTER 19

 _Alexander Hamilton_

John's lamp flickers out, plunging us into darkness, and it only serves to brighten the images in my head. It takes too much persuasion to focus on the boy holding me and not the anguished sea surrounding Nevis. As soon as I close my eyes, his bedroom vanishes and thunder strikes so violently I wonder if it's my own head pounding. Even as I look John in the face, I don't see his freckles. The dots on his face are ships being tattered and thrown about by the wind and rain. His light touch is a hailstone hitting the window of my mother's store. Leaning back into his arms feels like being thrown off a ship and into the icy water…

John taps me twice on the arm, and I tear my mind away from the hurricane that tore apart my island years ago. My eyes refocus, and his lips are moving urgently, but I can't focus on his words. There's too much to hear - the waves slapping the shore, glass breaking in the window, the crack of a tree falling on top of our house. I close my eyes again, and my body is thrown to the side and off the boat. I'm sinking, and nobody can save me, nobody can see, the sea is swallowing me alive, I'll reach the bottom soon -

"Alex, Alex, Alex," John chants frantically. "Alex, Alex." I open my eyes again, and a tear escapes his eye.

"I'm sorry." My voice is cracked and vulnerable, but I don't care. I need to stay here with John and not there, not then, not in the storm. But there is a storm, right here, and I'll lose him. I'll lose John and then the storm will take me too.

"Don't be sorry. You're okay. You're okay," he repeats over and over, stroking my arms. I try hard to stay with him, but my breathing gets hard and heavy, and the only way to satisfy my lungs' ache for air is to take huge breaths.

"Alex, you're here. With me." I'm here with John. He keeps talking, and I only listen halfway, but it's enough to keep my racing mind at bay. Now it's only John's face, and his eyes are bright, and his lips are telling me something, just enough to distract from my memories.

"Alexander." He lifts my chin with a finger. "Think about where you are. What do you see?"

White and dark blue water striking the land; shattering glass; frightened eyes…

"Your eyes," I say. "Your freckles. Your black shirt."

"Good. Now, what do you hear?" Shards of glass hitting the floor; screams; panicked footsteps.

"Your voice. Rain. Thunder."

Lightning flashes across the sky, and John's grip on my arms grows tighter; safer.

"What can you smell?"

"Your cologne. My cologne. Peggy's perfume… ?"

"What do you taste?" I lean forward and kiss him.

"Your gum. Peppermint." We're both smiling now, and when I listen for another crash, it doesn't come. The storm has passed.

"You're safe, Lexi," he assures me. "I've got you."

"Thank you, John. No one's ever done that before." I let my mind think back to the Nevis hurricane, but with John's hands steadying me, it isn't as painful a memory. Best of all, I know that I won't spend any more stormy nights shaking and crying myself to sleep. John will be there. With a brief glance at John's clock, I learn that it is 10:30 PM. I walk back to my own bedroom and gather my homework before returning to John's. We lie, side by side, on his bed for several minutes accompanied by the sound of pencils scratching on our papers.

"John?"

"Yeah?" He keeps his eyes on number eleven of the math homework.

"What did you get for number seven?"

"⅘ or -⅘." I lean down to check my own answer against his.

"And, John?"

"Mm-hm?" I inhale for four seconds.

"You know how I said that I loved you in the medical wing?" We both smile at the memory. It was one of my better moments.

"And how it was way too soon?" John chuckles and nods in reply.

"Well, it's still too soon and I still love you."

"I love you too, Hamilton."

My lips somehow make their way to his, and it's not like the first kiss at all. It's soft and sweet but with just as much passion and desire. There's a short knock on the door, but it ceases quickly, and Hercules flings the door open. He opens his mouth wide, covers it, and exits the room squealing like a piglet. I can hear their whispered conversation, and I groan.

"I should get back to bed." John nods slowly, but I can tell that he doesn't agree at all.

 _Maria Lewis_

The diner is bathed in red, both from the leather seats and the traffic lights that filter in through the rain washed window. It's late. Too late to be out. But the girls seated around me have no intention of leaving. I know the three want me to focus on the words tumbling non-stop from their mouths, but other thoughts have already taken control. My friends have told me countless times not to think about her. Not in this way, at least. But, nevertheless, I do. Constantly. The way her dark hair falls to frame her face so perfectly. And how her blue eyes shine with the brightest joy when she laughs. She has a beautiful laugh. I've heard the melody more than enough to know. I can't help but wish her smitten eyes would fall to me, in lieu of Alexander. No matter how much he proceeds to betray her or break her heart I can tell, by the look on her face, she's helpless. But I can still wish. Wish, and think constantly about her blue eyes and how it would feel to have her heart.

"You're crazy," Abigail chirps from her perch by my side. The sound is enough to shake me from my blissful reverie. Auburn curls dance around her face in a sporadic rhythm as she laughs.

"Crazy in love," comes the sing-song reply from across the booth. Theodosia leans across the grease-stained table toward Abby and me.

"I mean, so is Maria and no one's bugging her," she says with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Disgusting. Eliza isn't _Burr_. And we all know Maria's pining, what about it?"

"So Abby can gush about her romantic escapades with Adams and I can't mention a _crush_ on Aaron?" Abigail slams her fist down on the table top, but a smile splits across her face. The three turn to me, looking for some sort of agreement, but I won't, and can't, comply. I return my eyes, and thoughts, back to where I want them. Focused on the shifting lights reflected in raindrops on the window and my endless fantasies about Eliza. Ominous clouds hold their place in the sky and it looks like a storm is brewing rather than having just ended. A lazy smile illuminates my face as one always does at the thought of the blue-eyed girl.

"Jesus, Maria!" Someone lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and suddenly the smell of Abby's vanilla scented perfume is significantly more powerful. "Could you be any more obvious!?" Although Abby tries to sound condescending, I know her well enough to know that maybe she pities my situation. And I know she can relate. Knowing Abigail has been a mess of laughter and the constant stories of her unrequited feelings for various boys. In fact, Abby herself can be sort of a mess. She simply gets too emotionally invested in things and people.

"Alright, you can't keep doing this. No more daydreams in the middle of classes and conversations. You are _fucking destroying yourself_." I shrug my pin-infested bomber jacket off my shoulders and let it rest in my lap.

"Pointless, 'Dosia." Abby snatches the olive jacket from me and settles the silky fabric the back of our booth.

"No! Look, let me set you up on a date! It'll be fun and you can have a break from lamenting over a girl who clearly has no feelings for you other than friendship." She could've put it differently, but I do think that Theodosia may be right. I've spent too long pining after this girl. Too long wishing I would win her love from the bastard who broke her heart. And Theodosia has proposed the perfect solution. I can break away from the torturous feelings that grasp my heart and live a little.

"Fine! Fine, do you have someone in mind?" Knowing Theodosia, I had no need to ask this question. She knows everyone and out of the multitude I'm sure she has already plucked someone that, in her mind, is perfect for me. Abigail drums her expertly painted nails against our table without tearing her smug stare from my face. She must be relishing every moment of this discussion. Countless times she has tried and countless times I have declined her offers to find me love. I've grown sick of it, and maybe if it were Abby who had asked I would have given her the answer she's grown to expect.

"I do. And before you ask, you don't know her." Peggy erupts into applause and clasps my hand over the table. I'm not surprised at my friend's excitement. She's heard more than enough of my feelings and, finally, she may get the chance to fix what's broken. If I only I could do the same for her.

"Great." I pry my fingers from Peggy's and rest them palms down on the napkin unfolded before me. "And I… will be right back." Leaving my jacket over the booth, I squirm past a reluctant Abby and onto the linoleum tiles, that, over the long years in businesses, have been stained with grease and dirt from the lawn outside the door.

Only two doors reside in the depths of the diner aside from the entrance. One hides the kitchen, a very small and very typical addition to any restaurant, while the other bars entry to the communal bathroom. I am headed to the latter. I slide a hand into the back pocket of my jeans to make sure that an angular metal tube still remains wedged between the sheets of black denim. The worn material is soft and cold against my fingers, and as I approach the door, I fish it from my pocket.

My lipstick sits uncapped by a depleted bottle of hand soap, the red providing a deep contrast the white that covers the bathroom. Bent over the sink, I poke my tongue between my teeth and smooth the cherry makeup over my lips. I slip the tube into my pocket once again and return to the girls waiting in our booth but what waits behind that door is much for intimidating to me. Upon opening the bathroom door I see Elizabeth Schuyler, framed in a halo of fluorescent light, by the counter.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

 _Elizabeth Schuyler_

When I enter the diner, I'm overcome with the kind of warm air that floods around me and distinguishes the memory of the stinging cold air outside. The diner is small and cozy and filled with smiling faces for most hours of the day, but, even though the neon sign claims it's open 24 hours a day, only a few people are left. In fact, three girls are gathered around one table, and there's a jacket draped across the empty seat where a fourth must have been minutes before.

Maria emerges on the other side of the diner. She catches my eye as she steps out of the bathroom, and a smile quickly spreads across my face without much thought. Maria is sporting shockingly red lipstick, and, surprisingly, not even a speck of it is on her teeth. If I attempted to wear that shade, I would look like a clown. Not a scary clown because the sight of it would look so ridiculous paired with my pearly skin tone. Peggy tells me I should stick with shimmery pinks. I've never been known to "stick" with anything, though.

Maria waves me over to her table with a manicured hand, but as I take the seat next to her, her friends exchange knowing glances. I'm not surprised the news of my horrible behavior has gotten around the school by now. If they're thinking I'm a bitch, as much as it bothers me, it's true. I am one. I still can't help resenting Alexander for what he did at the beginning of the year, though. His valiant effort to make me jealous was more successful than I'd like to admit. But Maria was acting similarly with all her winking and simpering that made my mind buzz with the notion that it was very wrong. I just wish Alexander had told me about his feelings for John much sooner. Then, maybe I wouldn't have reacted so severely.

Theodosia from my dorm sits across from Maria, and next to her is my sister, Peggy.

"Margarita!" Peggy glares at me through her lowered eyelashes. "So this is where you went!" Peggy absolutely hates it when I call her by her proper name, and in times of urgency, I resort to it first.

A girl I don't know on the other side of Maria repeats the name and giggles. She doesn't seem to be laughing _at me_ , which is a good sign, but I can't be too sure. The girl adjusts a clip in her curly updo just as the remaining sunlight streams in throw the window, coloring her hair a lighter brown.

"Eliza, this is Abigail Smith on my right," Maria says, flourishing her hand toward her friend. Abigail rolls her eyes and leans forward to look at me.

" _Abby_ ," she growls. Maria shrugs and mumbles, "Whatever."

The girls resume their fast-moving conversations, and I listen and say a few words at times. Once in awhile, Theodosia will look at me and back to Abby and smirk. After a few minutes, I completely drop out their conversation in favor of surveying the diner with my eyes. The brightly lit interior contrasts with the pitch-black of the outside. Abstract paintings line the wall, one above every booth, with their prices in small print below. We are the last ones left in the building. I glance over at Maria's jacket, and I realize the other time she wore it was at the dance, over her red dress.

"Eliza, do you want to play?" Maria taps me on the arm, and her finger lingers on it for a moment. I tear my eyes away from the walls and back to her face. The other girls are looking at me, too.

"Play - play what? I'm sorry, I was just -" They all laugh, but the sound is light and friendly.

"Truth or dare," Peggy tells me. I nod hesitantly. It's impossible to know the outcome of the game; it's drastically different with each group.

"Abby, truth or dare?" Theodosia leans over the table with a devilish grin on her face.

"Truth." Theodosia decides I'm trustworthy with a quick glance across the table.

"Have you ever thought about cheating on Adams?"

"Theodosia," Abby scolds, a hand over her heart in mock distress, "what a question! Of course not!"

"Eliza, truth or dare?"

"Truth." Abby rests an elbow on the table as she thinks. Maria leans back to give us a better view of each other, and I feel like a criminal awaiting my sentence. Finally, Theodosia's same grin spreads across her face, and I have to resist the urge to move away.

"Have you ever liked a girl?" It's a much easier question than I expected.

"Oh, plenty of times," I reply. Abby barely seems surprised as she smiles and nods.

"Maria," I say, angling my body towards her. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Who do you like?" Maria's smile disappears. She lowers her eyes to the table and says nothing. As unwilling as she is to give an answer, I am eager to know. I'm not sure who it could be - Angelica? No, there's no chemistry there. Alexander or John? No, she seemed very happy when they got together. I can't think of anyone she's acted flirty around… except for me, at that dance, but I'm sure it was a joke. Unless - well, it's possible - it could be me? I can't imagine her thinking of me in that way, but when I try to, I think it must be pretty nice. I've never thought about her as more than a friend before, but it occurs to me that I wouldn't exactly mind if she liked me.

" _Someone_." The rest of the girls smirk like they know exactly who she's talking about. I wish I had the same knowledge.

 _Maria Lewis_

The question doesn't take me by surprise, but there's no way I'm going to let her know that it is she I've been chasing after. I regret even telling my friends about my crush, not that they wouldn't have found out if I didn't. I know my friends will see through my lie with no difficulty, but the girl who I'm withholding the truth from, will not.

"Dolley Payne," I say, daring the girls circled around me to challenge it. With an indifferent stare, Theodosia leans forward across the table.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm setting you girls up Wednesday, Maria." I look at her, dumbfounded. Of all the people to plan a date with, of course, she would pick Dolley. She's astonishingly beautiful, compared to only Eliza in my mind. And there was a time when I daydreamed about her in the same way I do now with Eliza. But she could always have taken the opportunity of my fake confession as a chance for me to comically make a fool out of myself. Suddenly, it occurs to me to check Eliza's reaction. Her eyes are fixed on my head, and she looks vaguely crestfallen. The look vanishes, and she clasps her hands together with an excited smile.

"Oh! I can see you two as a couple, it would be so cute. What's the ship name though, Molley?" Her smile lights up as her head bobs up and down. But right now, that smile that usually makes me so happy only hurts. I had hoped she had _some_ feelings for me. Maybe only a small crush.

"Yeah! Molley is pretty cute," Abigail lilts, happily. In my peripheral vision, I can see her grinning wildly.

"Truth or dare, Theodosia." She meets my eyes with a glare. I know full well that she hates her full name. She thinks it too formal and old school. I've told her millions of times it's beautiful. I don't know of anyone who finds her name unpleasant or old fashioned.

"Well, I'm prepared to be original. Dare." There are raised eyebrows all around the table. The other girls lean forward, awaiting my response. I take my time thinking it up.

"I dare you to…"

The color drains from Theodosia's cheeks.

"Go find Aaron Burr and kiss him." Abigail cackles, Eliza grins, but the target of my challenge only rolls her eyes.

"Find him where? Strolling around town?! It's one in the fucking morning!" she snaps. Abigail slams her hands on the table and laughs again, bent at the core with tears streaming down her cheeks. At this point, both Eliza and I are staring at her in utter confusion. Unfazed, Theodosia shifts back against the red leather cushions and waits for Abby to gain control of herself. It takes at least five minutes for her laughter to subside, and even then Abigail is laughing like a maniac.

"Alrighty then, Ms. Schuyler." Abby realizes her mistake seconds later and rushes to correct herself. "Elizabeth, not Peggy. Eliza, truth or dare."

"Tru-"

"Wow, hold on," I cut in. "Are we just going to let Theo get off that easily?! She can't just snap at us and avoid her challenge. That is most definitely _not_ how this game works. I'm thinking something along the lines of…" I look to Abby for help, and she willingly complies.

"Buy us each a milkshake, 'Dosia," she says. "Our flavor choice." Theodosia shrugs and, just in time, looks up. A dark-haired waiter stands above us, waiting for our attention to ask one of the few questions posed by waiters.

"Can I get anything for you, girls?"

Theodosia leaps into action.

"Yes! Actually, can we get four milkshakes," As she begins to list the various flavors she knows we adore, she looks to each of us in turn. "Three chocolate, one cherry, and one…" she turns to Eliza for help, presumably not knowing her well enough to order for her.

"One vanilla, please," Eliza speaks with a dashing smile which the waiter returns with surprisingly little effort considering the late hour.

"Now, Eliza, the question still stands." For a moment Eliza looks baffled, but she blinks, turns away from the retreating waiter, and smiles.

"Dare."

Abby begins as though she had always had the challenge in mind.

"I dare you to…" She pauses mid-sentence for the dramatic anticipation. "Flirt with the waiter." The four of us follow Abby's gaze our waiter, standing by the front counter.

"Oh come on, we all saw the way she looked at him!" Abigail protests to our questioning glances. A mischievous grin plays in slow motion across Eliza's face and she pushes herself out of our booth. Theodosia, Abigail, Peggy, and I watch her with blatant curiosity, and as the waiter turns I can see the same emotion reflected on his features. 'Hello' is the only word I can make out from the conversation that follows between the two, but with each second that passes and each smile that stretches across their faces, my heart sinks a little more. Eliza finally turns on her heel with a radiant smile on her face and begins on her way back to the four of us waiting at our booth.

"That was actually really successful. I'm shocked." Abby is either lying or incredibly good at playing indifferent, for her face remains blank aside from a faint little half smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  
Peggy pushed Theodosia gently to the side and follows her closer to the window to make way for her sister to sit.

"So… does he have the name?" Peggy teases, grinning and placing a hand on her sister's shoulder. The waiter draws near once again to place five milkshakes on the clear table surface. He doesn't miss the chance to wink at Eliza before he leaves.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

 **hey guys here's some d r am a**

I go back on my decision to leave John's room. I spend four hours in my bed, eyes closed, fruitlessly trying to fall asleep before giving up and returning to John's bedroom. He's lying flat on his back with his blankets up to his waist and his arms sprawled on both sides of him. His eyelashes reach the tops of his cheeks with his eyes closed, and his mouth is half-open as he breathes. I can't stop the smile that slips onto my face. John Laurens looks too perfect right now to ruin the picture, but I'm wearing a T-shirt, so I climb into his bed. He stirs beside me, and I lean over to greet him, but instead of his smile, I'm met with his hand, flying toward my face. Luckily for me, he realizes what he's doing before his palm hits my skin, but he still looks irritated.

"Little fucker," he hisses. I give him my most charming smile and a kiss on the nose.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"I _was_." I don't think I've been in a good mood during even one morning before I came to this school. But now, with John to wake up to every morning, I can't remember a morning I needed more than two cups of coffee to get to class. I let my head go limp on his shoulder, and he doesn't move away. He just shuts his eyes aggressively. I don't really mind; having him here next to me is enough. After what seems like hours, I hear a French accent - Lafayette. Hercules starts laughing, and I suppose John isn't satisfied with his level of annoyance quite yet because he rises from the mattress with an unmistakable glare protruding from his eyes. I scurry back to my bedroom to avoid his wrath.

For once, I get to breakfast on time. John insists that the three of us leave without him, and he silences my protests with another glower. Hercules and Lafayette walk through the halls slowly, poking each other and stopping every few seconds to catch their breath in between giggles. The stairwell is a gross blue-grey color, but there's more comfort in staring at it than watching Hercules and Lafayette delve into their own little world of inside jokes and mischief. The cafeteria is already lively with students talking, laughing, and complaining among their friends. Eliza, Maria, Theodosia, Angelica, and Peggy are already gathered at a table near the hall where we emerge. Peggy has her eyes transfixed by a book's pages, but they're not moving, so I think she's just determined not to notice me. Eliza and Maria are engaged in a conversation about one Dolley Payne except Maria is trying to keep the conversation alive while Eliza seems reluctant about the subject.

I slip off my tie-dye letterman jacket and tie it around my waist before sitting down. Hercules and Lafayette make their way, still laughing and leaning against each other, to the breakfast line, but I have no intention of eating.

"Hey," Eliza mumbles, looking happy to have an excuse to pause her conversation with Maria.

"Hi." I sit in my chair for three more minutes without bothering to strike up a conversation with anyone. Maria and Eliza abandon their dialogue, and Eliza doodles on her arm while Maria applies her lipstick. Angelica suddenly stands up with a stone-cold expression on her face.

" _Jefferson_. What is he doing bothering that poor Hemings girl?"

"I don't think she seems too bothered." In fact, the girl is staring over Jefferson's shoulder at his best friend, James Madison. A rather short girl with dyed hair that reaches her shoulders, she leans against her friends' table with a dreamy, unfocused expression on her face. You know, I shouldn't really call her short considering my own height (5'5", but I'd call it 5'7") ((A/N: Yes yes his height was 5'7" but he was in high school then)). Jefferson continues to talk at her, towering over the girl with a smirk. Honestly, I pity anyone who has the misfortune to be within fifteen feet of that little shit.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention? We are holding talent show auditions in the choir room on Friday. Good luck!"

The entire cafeteria collectively starts shouting. Hercules and Lafayette sprint back to our table with wide grins on their faces, Angelica begins muttering to herself under her breath, and Maria and Eliza grab each other's hands and twirl their arms around, laughing hysterically. For just a moment, all the noise fades to a soft hum, and the cafeteria is gone. In its place is a vast stage with velvety blue curtains framing it. The curtains split and retreat backstage to reveal two boys in place of them. One has his dark, curly hair tied up with one strand and the other, a head shorter, clutches a microphone in the space between them. They open their mouths and begin to sing, soft and light and beautiful…

The wood of the lunch table has somehow lost its several different hues, and now it's solid, bland, and dull…

John runs up to the table a minute before the bell rings, cutting off his out-of-breath greeting.

"Where were you?"

"I just wanted some alone time. Kind of hard to get around here." I frown, wondering if he's alluding to my staying in his bed this morning, but I don't ask any further questions.

 _John Laurens_

I have already planned out my act for the talent show, and I fully well plan to touch at least a few hearts. By the smile on his face, I'm sure Alex does too. He takes my hand and we start off together down the hall to the hell on earth that is history class. I have yet to experience a unit that doesn't send me spiraling into a slumber. And it's these thoughts, of history class and the horrifically dull rants, that make it so easy for Alexander's next question to catch me off guard.

"John, we should do a duet together. Are you in?" With that, my plans come crashing down right before my eyes. With Alex, sometimes speaking can be like a field littered with landmines. You have to take each step and say each word, with care, or he will destroy you.

"You know what, I actually…" He continues to stare at me with a child-like hope, like a baby wanting to win a cookie from me. "I was going to, um, I will…" I should just tell him now, and save both him and myself from the disastrous scenario playing out in my head. I wonder how he would react if I backed out after agreeing. The next words spill from my mouth all on their own.

"That would be fun," I tell him blandly. A smile lights up his face, and just for that grin, my little white lie was more than worth it. He picks up speed and begins to ramble about his plans and what songs he would most like to do. It then occurs to me that I have never heard him sing.

"What's your favorite song?" I inquire.

"Pompeii by Bastille."

"Sing it." I half expect him to say that he won't, not in the middle of the hall. His voice starts out quiet and scratchy, but as it dips and stretches he fills it with confidence. Alex actually has a very nice voice when he's not wearing it out by yelling at Jefferson. Or Burr, or Madison, or my father.

"Did I do okay?"

"Don't ask me, I've never heard the song… but your voice is beautiful."

He grins, already a blushing mess. I push open the classroom door to allow Alex to enter before me. I can't help but think that maybe I'm only digging myself into another hole. The more I lie to Alex and tell him that I'm completely on board with the idea, the worse it will be when I let him know. But, maybe, the surprise of the gesture I have planned will outweigh the anger Alexander is sure to face when I tell him my plan, and how it isn't to sing a duet with him.

"Thanks, John, do you have a song you want to do with me?" I shake my head, and his smile does not yet waver. I tune his words out and take my seat, bringing my focus around to Mr. Greene, standing toward the center of his desk, engrossed in a book. All I care to pick out is the numerous song titles that Alex has begun to list as the class settles down around us and, finally, his voice fades out with the rest.

At the moment, I couldn't be happier that my friends haven't made their way back to our dorm yet, for it gives me the much needed time to practice the act that I have planned out on my own. I sift through my backpack with hurried fingers, hoping to run the song at least once before my friends find their way home from class. Thankfully, it doesn't take long to find the folder that I stowed away sheets of printed sheet music inside. I picked the song I wanted to sing for my boyfriend in my head, only seconds after the announcement was made and I made no hesitation in printing out the music. After checking my Spotify account, I learn that the song in question is my most recently played. It doesn't come as a surprise; it only makes things easier for me. Upon clicking play, the words start before I can, and I easily fall behind.

I rewind the music, but my practice is cut short as the door flies open to reveal a radiantly smiling Alexander Hamilton. I rush to pause the melody ringing from my phone and shove the crumpled sheet music back into the folder I took it from to no avail. His grin has already vanished, only to be replaced by a look of seething anger.

"John, what the hell are you doing." He sounds like he's struggling to keep his voice even, and rightfully. Maybe I could've handled things better, but maybe Alexander shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. The thought crosses my mind to continue on with my lie, but now it just seems fruitless.

"I'm practicing my solo, Hamilton. I want to sing by myself." I shrink back against the wall as if it could absorb my body and save me from Alex's glaring eyes.

"Solo?! Then why did you agree to sing with me?! You could've said no, I wouldn't be mad. But _now_ I am." For each step I take back, Alexander advances, and soon I know he'll have me cornered up against the wall.

"I thought you would be offended! I messed up, okay? But please just be supportive at least! I'll be supportive of your act; you're an amazing singer, and even if you don't sing, you'll be a star!" I try for a smile as I speak, aiming to lighten the mood and stop this fight before it can escalate any more.

"I don't care what I sound like! I wanted to sing _with you_. I thought we would be really good together, and you didn't even bother to tell me you wanted to do a solo." I wish he would stop yelling, I'm sure every living being throughout the hall filled with dorms has heard us and either pities the couple fighting just down the hall or has already started laughing at us.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

 _Elizabeth Schuyler_

Despite Maria's many mentions of her, I was surprised when she announced her first date with Dolley Payne. She proudly told us that she would be meeting Dolley at the front of the school to walk to a restaurant for dinner. I was so taken by surprise that I didn't collect myself enough to congratulate her until she asked me what was wrong. I really should not have been so shocked. I guess I was hoping Maria's behavior at the dance would mean something. To her, apparently, it was just another few minutes of fun to be forgotten later. It was a few days after their date that I had opted to join the Broken Hearts United.

"Who hurt you?" Maria asked before she could stop herself.

"Alexander," I replied, too quickly, and soon after realized that he was not the only one. Angelica beamed at me and took the flannel off her own back to give to me, and I wore it with pride for the rest of the day. Alex apologized again, reminded of his mistakes, but John didn't say anything, and I noticed the stony silence between them for the first time.

I went through every tactic to detach myself from Maria's relationship with Dolley, but nothing worked. I couldn't bury my feelings for Maria any more than I could for Alex back at the beginning of the year. I smiled extra bright and extra frequently when Maria brought Dolley along and held her hand or hugged her randomly or dropped out of the conversation to share a glance with her. I turned my head away every time they shared a moment, not trusting myself to make the act appear genuine enough. Nothing helped lessen my pain; I only grew better at hiding it.

"There's nothing here that looks good," Maria mutters. I lift my head from the screen of my phone.

"There's plenty that looks good," I reason with a bored voice. It's quite exhausting to watch her fret about what to wear to meet Dolley for coffee day after day. I point to a brown blouse draped across an armchair. "Like that, for example."

"On _me_ , Eliza," she says.

"We both know that that's not true at all." It's the opposite, actually; anything Maria tries on suits her perfectly

"No, I don't. Everything I wear makes me look like a grandma or a third grader or a Rainbow Magic fairy." I snort with laughter, and she stays looking defiant with her arms crossed for only a moment. Then she giggles with me.

"Maria, you can wear whatever you want. I don't think Dolley will mind."

"But she will mind, 'Liza. She always gets this look on her face when I'm wearing something that doesn't look that great or I didn't put in enough effort or I forgot to wear makeup like it wasn't what she was expecting. It goes away after a few minutes, but she still acts weird, and she always wears everything so neat and put-together and her hair is never frizzy and -" She takes a shaky breath. I get off the mahogany bench and scramble over to where she is leaning against the wall with a very deep frown. I place a hand on her shoulder.

" _Maria._ If Dolley thinks you're not as great company when you don't look your best, she is out of her mind and doesn't deserve your company - ever. If she makes you feel like less sometimes, I will drop-kick her out of your life for you. Just say the word." Maria smiles gratefully at me and wipes at the corners of her eyes so no tears escape them. I know I have more to say to her, but it can wait, so I bite my lip, hard, to stop the words from flowing past my lips.

"Now let's find something for you to wear." I pick up the clothes scattered across the room one by one, partially to appease Maria and partially because her roommates are coming back soon. Blouse after blouse and skirt after skirt passes through my hands and into Maria's dresser.

"You're a really great friend, Eliza," she mumbles, holding a red flannel up to her chest.

"You are too." We sift through the piles of clothes for many more minutes before Maria reveals the outfit she's compiled from the shirts and jeans I've handed to her. She carries the bundle of fabric to the bathroom and emerges three minutes later wearing a white lace-up shirt, a red cardigan, and ripped mom jeans.

"Ready to go?"

"Can you help me with eyeliner? I've never been good at it."

"Of course!" She uncaps a tube of pen eyeliner and hands it to me. I instruct her to keep her eyes open as I draw on the wing.

"Damn your thick eyelashes," I mutter. I connect the wing to the line I've drawn above her eyelashes and step back to admire my work. She beams as she inspects her reflection in the mirror. I give her a thumbs-up and prepare to keep scrolling through the e-book I'm reading once she's out the door.

 _Maria Lewis_

Outside the window it's already raining. I can picture Dolley sitting in cafe waiting, staring through the glass at the same rain I watch carefully now. It's the third time I've been late this week, and each time it's for the same reason. Maybe at first I was lying about my crush, but now I really do feel something for her. I spend my time in class thinking about her and how I can impress her. A new face has taken over my thoughts, replacing the girl who didn't love me back. At least with Dolley I know her heart hasn't been captured by another, and everyday I hope that she feels the same. When she looks at me, I want to do all I can to prove to her that I'm worthy.

"Maria?" Eliza's voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife and draws me back to the present. "You're not leaving?" I shake my head and snatch my coat from the hook pinned to the perfectly painted walls.

"Right. Yeah, yeah I'm going now. Sorry. I'll see you later?" She nods and raises the screen of her phone to be level with her eyes. I hesitate in the doorway, but for only a moment before racing past the threshold.

Dolley's dark curls are pinned around her head in a halo of black, and when she turns with a smile on her face my heart skips a beat. She's clad in a flowery blouse that brings out the flecks of green in her deep hazel eyes and tattered blue-jeans that she somehow makes regal. She invites me closer with a friendly grin and I happily comply. Her jacket is draped over the seat across from her, but when I draw near she leans across the table to remove it from the wood.

"Welcome." Only when she speaks do I notice the steaming little mug sitting in the place once belonging to her jacket. "I got something for you, I hope you don't mind."  
"Of course I don't, thank you, Dolley." I take the seat and hook a thumb through the handle melded onto the smoothed china sides. I guess I expected a coffee or something simple like that, because I'm near spitting out the sweet liquid when it hits my tongue. It's sweet, but not in a disgusting way. Just a very-different-from-coffee kind of sweet and the taste took me by surprise. A glance at the pretty girl opposite me shows that she can read the thoughts running through my mind and evidently finds it amusing.

"Not coffee, I thought you might enjoy something new today…?" She lifts her own glass to her lips as she brings her confession to a close.

"It's good. Very sweet. So, uh. What is this stuff?" She laughs at my confusion and soon I find myself laughing along with her. Her hair shakes and dances around her face and falls loose from the pins that bind it to perfection.

"Chai-Maple Cider." She tells me matter-of-factly once her laughter has died away. I lean forward to peer into the darker liquid in her own cup.

"Coffee?" I ask her, knowing already that her answer will be no. We've been to this same place often enough and not once has she ordered herself a coffee, neither black nor loaded with cream and sugar. And those are the only two options when it comes to coffee.

"Chocolate Cappuccino. I'm sort of living off caffeine and sugar at the moment. Too much homework and too little sleep. Loud roommates don't help either. Actually, do you have a favorite kind of coffee? I'm running low and I'm getting desperate." She tilts her head from side to side as speaks and when she stops to wait for my reply, she bites her lip in a fretful way.

"Death Wish coffee. Or just some sort of hazelnut brew. It's delicious and heavily caffeinated. They have some zazzy ones here."

"Wait, hold on. Did you just say _zazzy_? Is that even a word?" She laughs, and against my will, my thoughts shift to Eliza and how similarly beautiful they sound when they laugh.

"Yes. Zazzy. It is actually a word. I'm not sure how much it applies to coffee, but it certainly has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" A soft jingle that I've familiarized myself with signals the door opening. Usually I pay no mind to the pleasant ring, but the way Dolley's face falls as her eyes settle on the figure standing alert in front of the glass compels me to look.

A rain-soaked James Madison advances through the cafe, shrugging his waterlogged coat from his shoulders as he walks to one of the many tables that stands unoccupied. Dolley has shifted to the edge of her seat and follows his with curious eyes and a look on her face that shows she's living in another moment.

"Dolley," I drag out the last syllable of her name, thinking the weird pronunciation could prove more effective in stealing back her attention from the rain-soaked boy. A smile splits across her face and she swivels back to me and her heavily caffeinated sugary drink.

"Sorry, you've got my _full_ attention." I watch James take a seat by the rain covered window, but when Dolley takes my hand, I look away. A part of me goes to a place where something could be going on between them. Although it's more than likely that it's just the jealous girlfriend inside of us all jumping to conclusions.


	23. Chapter 23

**We'll get back to Lams next chapter, we promise! Anyways, enjoy and leave a comment.**

CHAPTER 23

 _Thomas Jefferson_

I make the final click on the text that reads, " _yes, I agree_." The tickets are ours, and James is going to be overjoyed. I'm sure he'll be thrilled he has a best friend as resourceful as me.

"James?" I can picture in my head the grin that will spread across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Got our tickets." I hold up the plane tickets for him to see. He shakes his head in disbelief. I'm surprised he hasn't grasped my capability for literally anything by now.

"Excuse me?"

"You agreed to go to a One Direction concert with me."

"Yeah, in _fourth grade_."

"So we're going to Berlin." He slams his fist down on the table, an act of anger I have never seen before. How could he be opposed to going to Berlin? How could he object to seeing a boy band live?

"What's wrong?" I iron out the concern creasing my forehead. Of course he would mind, how could I be so ignorant? "Oh, it's fine, James, we can get a ticket for Burr, too!"

James wilts. "No, no, it's not about Burr." He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"Oh. If you're worried about your health, there are trained -"

"It's not that either. It's just that I liked One Direction in fourth grade, and not anymore. WHY WOULD I WANT TO HOP ON A PLANE TO BERLIN TO SEE A BOY BAND -"

His argument stops abruptly as he sneezes violently. Poor James, can't even get a word in without succumbing to his ill nature. He must have had another bad night. Sometimes James coughs himself to sleep and then wakes up again and coughs some more. He doesn't get much sleep, and the following day he can barely function. That must be it. I can't think of another reason why he would turn down my offer. Maybe he thinks I'm wasting money, but there's plenty more where that came from. My father's will left me more than enough to survive. I can do whatever I want _and_ go to college. What a wonderful deal.

But James has taught me you can't buy friendship. At first I would invite him to water parks and amusement parks and resorts to gain his favor, but he was always in the middle of a treatment or too sick to go. I was heartbroken when James went to the hospital for a month in sixth grade. I was certain he was dying, so I snuck into the hospital by bribing the secretary with 200 dollars. I knelt by his bed and held his hand and told him that I had some weird feelings for him that I didn't understand.

I'm pretty sure he was unconscious when I confessed my feelings to him, but I can't be sure, so I never bring up that month with him. Sometimes I wonder if he did hear me and what he thought about it. Would he be disgusted? Would he return the feelings? There's no way to know. Once James returned to our middle school in Virginia, I realized that friendship is made of things like trust and love and not gold jewelry. When my father died, he left me an inconceivable amount of money and a dying wish to go to high school in New Jersey. Naturally, I brought James along, and we've been here ever since. Burr joined us in sophomore year. I never forgot asking James to go to a One Direction concert with me in elementary school. It was a promise I couldn't fulfill back then because two nine-year-olds can't really hop on a plane, but it seems like the perfect time to take him now.

"C'mon, James," I prod in a soft voice. "I'll help you get all caught up."

"Thomas, I -" He starts over. "There isn't any reason I shouldn't go. Fine. When are we leaving?"

"The plane leaves tomorrow at 9 AM. We'll leave at 6."

"Do you… have permission to go?!"

"Of course. I said it was my father's wish for me to visit his father's grave in Berlin on the anniversary of his death or some bullshit like that." I gulp, feeling very guilty about calling it bullshit. This part is completely true - I plan to visit the cemetery where he is buried and leave some yellow roses on it like I promised my father. My grandfather was an honorable man. He was born in Germany, but he left to help with a school in Kenya and married one of the teachers. Then he brought her back to Germany and died there.

"So, James, are you in?" I give him my most pleading look, uncertainty shining through my eyes.

"I'm in." I reach over the table between us to hold his hands but realize what I'm doing and retract them. He looks confused. Maybe he would have liked it better if I had grabbed his hand.

We pack for the rest of the day, shoving clothes into suitcases and looking up hacks for efficient packing. Our conversations are light and short-lived, but I'm thrilled to see that James seems genuinely excited to go. I can't help but picture the two of us sitting side by side on the white airplane seats watching the clouds drift past. Maybe I'll take the plunge - lean into him or put my arm around him or (who am I kidding) tell him about my feelings that I understand a lot better now. I would love to have the courage to do so, but admiring the boy I am in love with from afar is just as desirable.

 _James Madison_

"Do you have any idea what Hamilton is fighting with John about?" Although I can hear him loud and clear by my side, I'm barely listening to the words flowing from his mouth. I clench my hands into fists by my knees and set my face in a bold, defiant way. People file towards the door in a slow-moving line as the boarding of each new group is announced.

"Attention, passengers, we are now boarding first class flyers," crackles through the gate. On instinct my hand flies in a frenzy to find Thomas' fingers to hold. He takes my hand without complaint and continues to babble while we approach the ramp, still linked by our woven fingers. I'm not sure if Thomas knows of my aviophobia, but he doesn't ask questions, so he must've gotten the message somewhere along the line. With each step, my grip on his hand grows tighter. Finally, I must've begun to cut off his circulation, because he prys his hand from mine and fishes through his pocket for our tickets. I wasn't surprised that Thomas got the two of us first class tickets, but maybe I should be. It certainly is lot of money, especially considering the VIP passes he managed to snag for the concert. Thomas hands over the tickets with a charming smile plastered to his face that I attempt to mimic, although mine resembles more of a nervous grimace.

The ramp is filled with an annoying and distressing clamor and it's all I can do not to turn and bolt out the propped open door. The noise only increases in volume as we board the plane and hurry in a single file line to our seats. Only a few occupy the comfortable first class compartment, but even now the aisle is flooding with a throng of people setting off to their seats, carry on bags in hand.

"James, everything okay?" Thomas' voice cuts through my frenzied mind and I can feel his hand brushing softly, and very intentionally, against mine. I nod, but it's a complete lie. I slip past him and into the seat opposite a window through which blinding light pours. We sit in silence for at least twenty minutes, the only sound being that of footsteps and hushed whispers coming from all around us. A click reverberates through our cabin as the loudspeaker switches on. The cheerful voice crackling out warnings and exits to us is drowned out in my head, and I have to strain to pay attention while frantically glancing out the window and around the cabin. The engine roars to life all at once, and beneath me the plane begins to crawl forward.

"Shit… Thomas, I want to get off," I hiss to the afroed man relaxing by my side. He prys my fingers from their death grasp on the armrest we share and laces them together with his. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, as though that might slow my pounding heart. And it does, surprisingly. The feeling of his palm pressed gingerly against mine brings heat to my cheeks and makes my heart race in a different way. A good way. His hair tickles my cheeks and brings a smile to my face that I quickly bite back to avoid the appraising eyes of the clusters of people settled back in their seats.

"Well it's too late now, and anyways, I don't want to go as much without you. It won't be that bad, it'll be over before you know it!" he encourages me. Although his attempts are more than likely fruitless, the part about not wanting to go as much without me does warm my heart, at least a little. And he's right, at this point there's no way they'd let me off the damn plane.

"Okay." My simple worded response sounds lame compared to reasons I can't abandon the plane. We accelerate without warning and I press my body back into the warm seat, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my finger's around Thomas' in the process. The plane shakes and wobbles and years of death by plane crash come flooding back as we ascend. Thomas' steadying hand stays curled around mine, grounding me to reality enough to assure myself that we are not, in fact, going to die a fiery death as we hit the asphalt. The plane levels and the wobbling stops all at once, but I don't let go of Thomas' hand. I like the way it feels in mine - warm and soft.

"We're level now, James. We're not going down until landing." I open one eye, and then the other, to see Thomas staring at me with extreme concern written on his face. He smiles once he sees that my eyes are open, and, with great difficulty, I smile back.

"And you're here," I whisper under my breath. I'm not sure whether or not Thomas heard me, but his grin grows, so I must have done something right. The sound of wheels rattling against the plastic and metal plane floor draws closer as a woman pushes a rumbling cart our way. Thomas looks up at him with his signature dashing smile that turns my brains to mush and makes my heart beat faster.

"Can I get you boys anything to drink?" the lady says in a bored, rehearsed tone. I shake my head while, simultaneously, Thomas nods emphatically. He leans forward and voices his order in a tone I can't quite make out. I doubt he's being purposely secretive about his drink choice, it's not a shady thing to request anyway. He settles back while the lady nods and pushes her loud cart past us.

Beneath us, the world is miniscule. It looks like child's dollhouse, small enough to pretend with. The cities unfolding rapidly down below are beautiful in a strange way and, for a moment, I can forget my panic to just watch the world go by out my window. The rumbling cart returns and before I know it, Thomas is pushing an icy plastic cup toward me.

"Cheers, James," he tells me as I take the foaming soda from his hands.


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

 _Alexander Hamilton_

At this point, I'm not sure if I'm not talking to John or if he's not talking to me. I admit it's a lot more annoying than being on good terms with him. I can never stare at him or mention his name in passing or rush to sit next to him. I don't want John to think I'm the kind of guy to give in so quickly. What he did was rude and uncalled for, and I'm too stubborn to let it go. I sometimes wonder when this will end, though. Will we avoid each other at prom? Will we turn away from each other in our chairs moved next to each other by most of our teachers? I don't even know if we broke up. There was no official breakup, but, if we aren't talking, there's no way there can be. I don't think I want to be his ex-boyfriend. I'm not ready to give him up quite yet; not over an insignificant talent show.

It seems so unlike John to plan a solo while he agreed to do a duet with me. I could imagine the two of us up on the stage, forgetting the audience was even there because we were so lost in each other's eyes. That's not what John wanted, though. He wanted it to be his own song. He refused to share the stage with me.

I find myself wondering, as I allow myself a single glance at John during lunch, what song he will sing. I hope it's worth it for him. If he turns down his boyfriend for a song, it better be a good one. As I stare down at my unappealing math textbook, the words fade into images of John up on that stage.

He sings his heart out to another boy sitting in the front row. He sings an angry rock song about his breakup. He elbows Alex in the side and mutters something to him.

"What?"

"Classic Alexander." Angelica sighs. "Are you going to the talent show?"

"Well, yes, we're supposed to, aren't we?"

"I guess." Angelica's eyes return to the novel she's reading. It must be at least 800 pages long and has a black and white cover depicting a lock of hair. She's able to block out the entire world as her eyes travel across the page.

Maria and Eliza are busy during the following days, rehearsing for their dance in the talent show. John is locked up in his bedroom to rehearse, and when he's in the dorm, I go to the library to finish up my homework. The school feels much less inviting without John by my side, making jokes and squeezing my hand. I try to keep thoughts of him out of my mind completely, but every time I see his face the thoughts come flooding back in.

I let my mind drift to anything but this line of students as I walk toward the auditorium with the rest of the school. My eyes are trained on Dolley Payne's back. She has brown hair that reaches past her armpits and has split ends at the tips. She shakes a hand through her hair every few minutes.

The line eventually speeds up, carrying the students until we're sitting in the movie theater-like chairs row after row. A silhouette is looming backstage and holding a piece of paper. Once all the students are seated, the man walks onto the stage.

"Thank you all for coming to the Elizabethtown High talent show!" He takes a breath as the students erupt in excited applause. **(A/N: Or maybe it's laughter bc they all know none of them have talent.)** I look over to my left and right to see Dolley and an unfamiliar boy. I usually share History with Thomas, James, Burr, and some of my friends, but James and Thomas have been absent all day. There are rumors that Thomas got expelled and took James with him, but that sounds too good to be true.

Mr. Washington follows up the greeting with a brief speech and leaves the stage. The curtains open, and a tall girl walks on with her head held high. She solves a series of rubix cubes lain down on the table in front of her before bowing and exiting backstage.

The next act is introduced as "John Laurens with a song." He steps on wearing a suit and a nervous smile. I fight the urge to lower my eyes to my lap. He retrieves the microphone from the principal and clears his throat into it.

"I'd like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend. I love you, Alex." His words have a mixed reaction from the crowd. I can hear cheers and screams and exclamations of disgust. But for me, my hands are glued to the armrests and I can barely breathe. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. He's singing his solo _for me_. And he announced it to the entire school. I can feel his eyes boring into my head as he takes a deep breath and starts the song. The first few chords play out and he grins.

"Well you done done me and you bet I felt it, I tried to be chill but you're so hot I melted," he warbles with a wink. I manage to get out a shaky laugh. I still can't believe John did that. He was acting so cold and distant and wanted to sing by himself and not with me, but it all was worth it.

Towards the middle of the song, the audience shouts for me to come up to the stage. I'm glad I'm sitting toward the front because if I were a few rows back there would be no chance. I stand up and slowly make my way to the stage. John beckons me up the stairs and reaches over to grab my hand once I'm onstage.

 _John Laurens_

The crowd booms out their comments on my song, many begging for Alexander to join me on the stage so they can get a better view of his reaction to my gesture. Once on stage, Alex laces our fingers together and I smile brightly at our supporters. I have been worrying all day that Alex might not appreciate the song in any way and continue to hate me for the way I handled things, which I will admit was badly.

"Well open up your mind," mid sentence, I signal for him to join me. "And see like me, open up your plans and damn you're free. Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love," we sing. I have to admit, our voices mix well, making the pair of us sound far better than I did on my own.

"Listen to the music of the moment people dance and sing, we're just one big family and it's our Godforsaken right to be loved loved loved loved loved. So I won't hesitate no more, no more this is our fate I'm yours." I try to pick out faces I know in the midst of the crowd, but I only manage to find two through the darkness cloaking our audience. Peggy stares intently, her face all scrunched up in a sad little frown, while Angelica beams radiantly, sitting forward attentively in her front-row seat.

As we finish our song, the crowd erupts into cheers, and, much to my surprise, Alex kisses my cheek. I guess I really have made up for my mistakes. Hand in hand, we bound from the stage. We head straight for the choir room, which thank God, has been vacated by the students waiting their turn to showcase talents they more than likely don't have. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. There are definitely a few who I could spend hours watching or listening to, but on the other hand there are some who seem to think they have a lot more potential than they actually do.

"Okay, so can we talk about this?" Alex pipes up. I nod and make my way to the rusting risers. The joints creak when I sit down, and I look up at Alexander expectantly for him to begin our conversation. When he doesn't, I start myself.

"And 'this' is my song, correct?" I remain distracted by the classroom as I speak. The choir room is very likely the most interesting, what with all the brightly colored posters plastered to the walls, and of course the rainbow banner hanging above the door with bold words written in a looping black font across the center. During class, I've spent more than enough time picking out the neat words scrawled across the array of colors. I think I actually got the message during my second or third class. And that may sound weird that it has taken this long, but changing colors and shifting shades do make it difficult to pick out the individual letters.

"It is. And by the way, 'I'm Yours?' Nice choice. And you sounded incredible. But… wow. You couldn't have chosen any other way to handle that situation? I mean, I guess I would've been disappointed if you told me you didn't want to sing with me right off the bat but I would have understood. Telling me you do want to sing a duet with me then going on to practice your solo that you never told me you wanted to sing was a just a really bad move," he rants. "And I loved it so much, and it's actually incredibly hard to stay mad at you, especially when you're looking at me like that. You do know I would've have entirely supported you singing a solo, right? Well at least once I bandaged up my damaged pride."

"Yeah, Alex, I'm _really_ sorry. I just thought that if I told you I wanted to sing on my own, you would have asked what song I wanted to do and then it wouldn't be a surprise, and…" The risers creak as Alex sits beside me and rests his head on my shoulder. I lean into him and continue to profusely apologize. "I don't know what I was thinking. I should've realized that was would be even worse than just letting you know and messing up my romantic gesture. I was stupid and I'm sorry."

"Well it _was_ pretty romantic. And, John?" I feel the pressure of his head lift from my shoulder, and when I don't pivot to look at him, he cups my face in his hands and turns my head on his own. "Thank you for the song. It was amazing. Beautiful, really. Your voice is definitely…" He pauses mid-sentence, searching his mind for the appropriate word that describes his current feelings. "Exquisite. Really nice. Do I even have to tell you that you're the best one here? I mean, I haven't even seen the others and I know it's unbeatable. And, maybe I overreacted a little. So, I'm sorry too. And I'd like to let you know, again, that I love you." A grin cracks across his pondering look and his head returns to its comfortable place on my shoulder.

"Thank you, Alexander. And I love you too."

We sit like this is silence, hands locked, huddled together, for long enough to hear at least three belted songs and long breaks followed by roaring applause. If I had to guess I'd say we missed maybe five acts. I'm not too disappointed, especially not with Alex by my side and sweet thoughts running through my head.

"We're missing the show," he tells me, not-so-emphatically.

"Yeah, we should probably head back out there." Although he nods, for a few more minutes, neither of us make another move. But, sadly and finally, Alex stands and I follow him. He stops and swivels on his heel at the door. Acting on impulse, he pulls me in for a kiss. I'm still surprised when he pulls away and I have no doubts that the look on my face is quite witless.

"Let's go enjoy the show." With that, he skips off through the open door.


	25. Chapter 25

**Here's some more lams drama! Enjoy!**

CHAPTER 25

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I'm honestly really glad I don't have a reason to be mad at John anymore. I don't like avoiding him all the time. I feel like, throughout the last week or so, I've been squeezing my eyes shut. Now I can open them and look at John for real. I don't have to sneak glances at his freckles or pretend to be reading whatever I have in front of me. I never want to fight with him again.

I would feel really guilty if I had missed Maria and Eliza's act to be with John, but, luckily, we got back to our seats in time. John is still wearing his suit, and I'm pretty sure he was supposed to watch from backstage for the rest of the show. But whatever, I'd much rather have him here by my side. It's one of those weird moments when I'm suddenly super aware of the position each of our hands are in. John's hand is resting on his thigh, and mine is on the armrest. If I just moved it a few inches, we could be holding hands, but John is super focused on the stage and a girl playing the violin. I don't really want to interrupt that cute look of interest on his face. So, yeah, I kind of do end up watching him instead of the talent show. He has a tiny smile on his face and eyes so wide that they hide a few freckles that usually hide behind his eyelashes. John glances at me and shoots me a look that says, _what are you looking at?_. _I'm looking at you_ , I want to say. _And you're really beautiful._ But, instead, I inch my fingers closer to his until our pinkies brush each other. He smiles down at our hands and connects them. I feel my heartbeat speed up and that weird fluttery feeling in my stomach, but it's not like he's never held my hand before. It isn't a new thing.

Maria and Eliza prance onto the stage from opposite sides with focused smiles on their faces. A song I've never heard before fills the auditorium and propels the girls into motion. They move perfectly in sync, fast and then slow, taking up the whole stage. Somehow, they've configured the lights to change colors on the beat behind them, and their movements combined with the fading colors in the background make the performance incredible to behold. When they suddenly freeze and the music stops, a few hundred hands clap. They scamper off the stage after a moment, beaming and holding hands. I'm grinning at John and clapping until my hands ache before I even register that the talent show is over. Mr. Washington returns to the stage to address the audience and thank us for coming. John, Angelica, Peggy, Lafayette, Hercules, and I wait outside the auditorium for Eliza and Maria to come out. They reflect on their favorite acts, and John and I do our best to pretend we were there for everything.

"I didn't see you and John in your seats, by the way," Angelica says with a smirk. "Where'd you go?"

"Oh, we were there," John counters. I give Angelica a look that convinces her to drop it.

Maria and Eliza step out of a door near the entrance to the auditorium carrying bulging plastic bags and wearing leggings and sweaters. Their faces are slightly red, probably from rubbing at stage makeup. We bombard them with smiles and hugs as soon as the door closes behind them. Once we've completed our accost, Maria glances around, disappointed, and Eliza touches her arm.

"Dolley promised me she would come," Maria says in a strained voice, pasting a very fake smile on her face. Eliza assures her something probably came up, but neither of them seems convinced. We all head back to the dorms laughing and talking and trying in vain to cheer Maria up.

After the girls split off from the group to their dorms, Hercules and Lafayette walk ahead of us. The hallway splits into two paths, and a muttering sound comes from the one that doesn't lead to our dorm. John taps my arm to alert me to the sound as if I haven't noticed it already. He looks at me with a question in his eyes, and I nod. The voice, as we can hear from closer to its source, belongs to Dolley Payne. There's another voice, one I don't recognize. It's a girl's voice, though, and she's hushing Dolley in between giggles.

John and I look past the wall concealing us to see them. The girl I don't know is pressed up against the wall and has her finger against Dolley's lips. Dolley pushes her finger away and then leans in to kiss her.

No. No. They _can't_. I have to look away so I won't get nauseated enough to puke into my hand like that time I walked into a portable toilet and the smell was so bad I had to sprint out with my hands cupped over my nose and mouth. John can't take his eyes off them. He's so stunned I have to grab his collar and drag him out of sight. Part of me wants to march up to Dolley and tell her how despicable it is to do what she's doing, and judging by his facial expression, I can tell John is having the same thoughts. But I force myself to think logically and lead John by the hand through the hallway that will get us to our dorm. Hercules and Lafayette give us questioning looks that we ignore. I sit on my bed and beckon for John to do the same.

"What are we going to do, John?"

"We can't tell Maria." He looks me dead in the eyes and squeezes my hands to emphasize his point.

"It isn't a healthy relationship!"

"But it would break her, Alex. It would truly break her." His chin is trembling. He better not cry, not before we've figured this out.

 _John Laurens_

I can't help wondering what would have happened if we confronted Dolley. Maybe we could have made sure she stopped and broke up with Maria in the worst way possible. Now we're left with this awful feeling of being the only people who know a horrible secret, and it's none of our business. Alex hasn't given any insight about what we should do, but neither have I. So I guess I can't complain. I do wonder what Maria would say. I've always thought that Eliza was the girl she truly wanted, but nevertheless, Dolley makes her happy.

"Ugh, what if we all just advised Maria to break up with her? Like we could just say we didn't like her and… who do we even tell about this?" I start.

"No one." Hercules rounds the corner, clutching a grinning Lafayette by the hand, and the pair of them look at us inquisitively. It wouldn't hurt to tell them. And maybe the two would have a better idea about how to go about hiding this or coming clean to what we saw.

"That's a bad idea," I tell him, to which he only grimaces. The boys advance, hands linked, toward us with smiles on their faces. Alex shifts forward, letting the book perched on his lap tumble off and to the smooth fabric on which he sits beside me. Hercules and Lafayette watch us with smirks on their faces.

"You have to tell us now." Alex shoots me a piercing look. I force my eyes away from his glaring face and turn to the boys hovering over us. I nearly lie. I could very easily tell them that we merely lost something or missed a class. But they do deserve to know, don't they?

"Dolley is cheating on Maria," I say, heaving a sigh from between my pursed lips. Alex's elbow jabs sharply into my side, but I don't give him the satisfaction of winning. Lafayette's eyebrows shoot up while Hercules' jaw drops. After a moment, he shrugs it off and moves to sit opposite Alex and me.

"Well, shit!" Lafayette chirps as he falls back into a polished rocking chair, set apart from the other well cared for articles of furniture. His false cheery tone is almost _more_ hilarious than the way the news rolled effortlessly off Hercules' back. "Are we telling her?" Before I can give him an answer of my own, Alex cuts in with a snappy remark.

"Well I didn't want to tell anyone at all, but John here has other ideas."

"Most of the time you love my ideas, Alex. Like that time I sang a love song to you."

"And the rest of Elizabethtown High."

"But mostly you." Alex apparently decides this argument is too petty for him and ends it with a quiet scoff.

"We're telling you this," says Alex, beckoning Eliza over with his large brown eyes, "because you're her best friend."

"I'm not sure I want to know what 'this' is." Eliza perches herself delicately on the edge of our couch, one eyebrow raised and stares boldly into Alex's eyes. He nods and, now curious, Eliza sits forward. After telling our roommates, Alex wasn't as hesitant about the idea of spreading this scandalous news. Admittedly, the girls did look happy when Alex and I stumbled upon them, but poor Maria. I don't even want to imagine the way she'll feel when undoubtedly faced with the truth of the matter. Thinking back on it, I didn't know the girl. Although that's not to say Maria doesn't.

"Dolley is cheating on Maria!" Alex blurts out, leaning forward as he speaks. Eliza shoots to her feet emphatically, and I can almost make out an entirely different emotion flash past her eyes for half a second.

"I knew it!" she exclaims. "What are you waiting for?! We have to tell her this."

"Eliza, think. How would she react?" Alex prods her.

"It doesn't matter. She has to know!" Eliza leaps to her feet and runs to the door, and Alex sends me a look of panic. Maria can't know so soon; he's right about that. But Eliza is at the door.

"Eliza, wait!" I call out. She turns back to look at us.

"She has to know," she repeats. I can tell she's barely thinking, her loyalty taking over. Eliza is, through and through, a good friend. Even if it will cost Maria's relationship and her happiness for the next few days.

"Please, please wait," I argue. "Tell her in a few days."

"No, John, I'm sorry. No, I can't let her think everything's fine!" I find Alex and Eliza staring at each other with pain in their eyes. They must be thinking of the time they shared as a couple. I can't push away the jealous feeling triggered by their gaze. What are they considering so intensely?

"You did something with John, didn't you?" Eliza's voice is soft, sad, and not accusing. "When we were together?"

Alex's eyes lower to his lap in shame. He despises talking about that night. No matter how hard I try to persuade him, he will never forgive himself. "I - I did, Eliza. I am so, so sorry."

"It doesn't matter now. We're both over it." Alex's face crumples in his effort to stop the tears from escaping his eyes. I rub a hand up and down his back. Eliza, taking the silent moment to flee, pulls open the door and sprints out of the dorm. I can only imagine what will happen in the next few minutes. I turn my attention to Alex, recovering from his memory, and sigh. At this point, it's only a matter of minutes before Maria hears the news, and there's nothing we can do to prevent it.


	26. Chapter 26

**We're sorry this is late! Also - you guys comment such sweet things, so thank you! :)**

CHAPTER 26

 _Elizabeth Schuyler_

I can't believe Dolley Payne is cheating on Eliza. Beautiful, kind Maria, my best friend, for whom I only wish the best. In my anguish to hear the news, I didn't ask who Dolley is kissing in corners of the hallways. Maybe it's a boy. Maybe it's someone from Thomas Jefferson's little group. She always did seem friendly toward James Madison. I don't think it could be Thomas Jefferson, though. He is dating Martha Wayles, and neither of them seems to be unfaithful. I heard James and Thomas arrived at the school shortly after the talent show commenced, but Dolley never said she liked boys. I just feel so bad for Maria. She loves Dolley, as she's told me, and it's the worst thing to cheat. Damn that Dolley. I wish Maria would get together with someone she could trust. Someone who doesn't look at her funny when she doesn't wear high fashion. Someone she can laugh with every day and not get bored. Someone like me, maybe.

Maria's dorm is, unfortunately, several halls away from Alex's, but the boys haven't left their dorm. The girls in her dorm have draped some sort of lacy lavender cloth over the door and pasted half a million stickers on it as well. I knock on the door and tap my feet impatiently. I would like to burst in there and tell Maria immediately, but she does have roommates I don't know, after all. Martha Wayles and Abigail Smith. Well, also Peggy, but I don't think she would mind if I showed up in her dorm without an explanation. She shows up in mine several times a day without knocking and steals our clothes.

Just as I have my hand poised near the door, preparing to knock again, I hear footsteps on the other side of the door. A short and thin girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes opens the door. She gives me a forced smile with reddish lips.

"Is Maria here?" I feel myself slipping into a different voice, the one I use with strangers. Martha is not exactly a stranger, though. We've been in school together the past six years.

"Yep. MARIA!" She whips her head back and shouts the girl's name into the dorm. Then she turns back to me and a look of realization dawns on her.

"Oh, do you want to come in?"

I smile politely in response. "No, I just need to talk to Maria out here."

Maria walks past Martha to meet me wearing an oversized sweater and ripped jeans. She greets me with a brilliant grin. I'm guessing Dolley made up for not being there after the talent show.

"What's up?"

"I need to tell you something." I'm suddenly nervous. If I were told of my cheating girlfriend, I would be heartbroken. Maria will undoubtedly feel the same, but she needs to know the truth. No matter what.

"What is it?"

I hesitate. Of course, I want to tell her, but seeing her sad - heartbroken, even - would be horrible. And it would be partially her fault.

"It's Dolley… she's -" My voice breaks off. "She's cheating on you."

" _What?_ " she says incredulously.

"I don't know who she's cheating with or how long it's gone on, but John and Alex caught her kissing another girl after the talent show!" Her devastated expression is replaced with one of fury.

"I _knew_ it!" She stomps on the floor. "She never even liked me." She seems even more infuriated by the tears leaking from her eyes. She angrily wipes them away and tries to turn from me, but I grab her arm.

"Of course she did. Who wouldn't?" I wrap my arms around her and assure her it's fine to cry. After a few minutes of sobbing, Maria decides to go back to her dorm and formulate a plan to break up with Dolley. She doesn't seem to be in a state of ever forgiving her, so that's a good sign. Reluctantly, I return to my dorm. I wonder fleetingly if she heard what I had said - that who wouldn't like her? It's just about the closest I've come to confessing. I'm not sure what she'd say if I did it directly. I could never do that right after I told her about Dolley. It would be insensitive to overwhelm her like that.

I send a text to Alex once I reach my dorm. Angelica greets me a questioning look that I return by saying that I'll tell her later. Theodosia is out with Burr, who still thinks she likes him as a friend despite our encouragement of her crush. I pick up my phone to check the message Alex has sent me.

(Eliza: I told Maria. She'll be okay.

Alex: How did she react?

Eliza: How do you think? She cried. And she's pretty mad at Dolley.

Alex: Has she broken up with her yet?

Eliza: I doubt she'll want to talk to her quite yet.)

I hope she will, though. Dolley doesn't even halfway deserve Maria.

 _Maria Lewis_

My room resembles a cave when the blinds are drawn closed. A sweet, beautiful cave, in which I can feel untouchable (courtesy of the lock installed in the door) while I wallow in my own self-pity. I don't think I've moved an inch since I locked myself in. Aside from the obvious. I stare at the ceiling and the cracks etched in the roof, just thinking. And, although I told Eliza I was plotting to break up with the girl who did this to me, my thoughts are centered more on why I care so little. Thinking back on it, I cared more about the angry, grief-stricken look on Eliza's face than the actual situation at hand. She looked like she felt genuinely sorry for me, and that mattered a thousand times more than any hurtful mistake Dolley Payne could've made.

I hear a knock at the door, followed in quick succession by the futile twisting and rattling off a latched lock. The rattling intensifies, and even though the girl on the other side must know that the door is locked and I don't want attention of any kind, does not stop.

"Maria!?" I heave a sigh past my slips and rise on heavy legs. "Maria, open the fucking door!" At this point, I can make out the tone to be that of Abigail's. She pounds her fists on the door in a relentless and entirely fruitless attempt to run down my door. Her attack stops only when I shift the lock back out of place and let the door swing to the side.

The red-haired girl practically falls into my room, arms open, ready to embrace me. I nearly push her off, but before I get the chance to banish her back to her own room, she steps back. With a frown etched onto her delicate features, Abby stumbles backward to take her place on my bed.

"How are you doing?" she inquires. "I heard about Dolley. Oh my god. That's just not okay. Do we know who the other person was yet? When I find out I swear I'll wring both of their necks! Who would _do_ that! I mean, she's in a happy relationship with someone who really cares then she just goes on to fuck everything up with her carelessness. And _feelings_." Her anger is almost comical if it weren't for the now murderous look on her face.

"No, I don't know. And come on, Abby, people get cheated on sometimes. It doesn't matter more because it happened to me. And murder is not the answer." Abby looks like she vehemently disagrees, but she doesn't utter a word to challenge me. Instead, she just inches closer and rubs a manicured hand up and down my back.

"Not murder. But please, break up with her and then the two of us will plan out a hilarious vengeful prank or something. It wasn't even me she cheated on and I still want to get back at her. How about we egg her dorm!" Abigail proposes emphatically.

"Now that's pretty cliche, and I think that's also a really bad idea. School property," I remind her. She sets her cherry lips in a pout and slouches back. Even though my plans had been to sit locked in my room for the rest of the day, keeping Abby and her master plots away from me, I'm actually overjoyed I let her in. The idea of striking back, at the moment at least, sounds amazing.

"Well… whatever. We could do something smaller like dump chalk dust on her head. That would be really annoying at the least. Or maybe we could…" I tune out Abigail's plans and lean my head gently against her shoulder while she rambles animatedly about her scheme's. Maybe the idea of this whole thing is more pleasing than actually carrying it out. As I let my thoughts wander back to Eliza, it occurs to me that maybe my daydreams never stopped. I certainly did think about Dolley, but those blue eyes remained ever in the back of my mind. And those thoughts bring a question to my mind. What if I could have a chance with Eliza?

"Yes, yeah, that sounds good. I like the chalk idea. As long as we get to see her face when it happens. Now, just… come with me, okay?" Before the auburn-haired girl can protest, I spring to my feet and link her hand with mine. Hand in hand, we race down the empty hall, only slowing at the sound of voices. Abigail finally asks me where I'm taking her although it seems to me that she may have a very good idea of the place.

"Dolley's dorm. If I remember the number correctly. I'm breaking up with her. So then we can plan our revenge without me feeling like I'm betraying her," I say, to which Abby merely scoffs.

"You owe her nothing. She betrayed you first. You know… Dolley probably doesn't know that you know what she did yet. I mean, how would she? Rumors spread but not that fast. As far as I know, only me, you, Peggy, Martha, Eliza, John, and Alexander actually know. I guess that may seem like a lot… but not compared to how many will know come Friday. Give it a week and the whole school will know, right?"

"Right… come on. It's right up here." I stand before the neatly painted door for only about five seconds before Abby pushes past me and raps her fist sharply against the wood. Her fingers tighten around mine, and the gesture is barely reassuring despite how little cause I have to be nervous.

The door gives way for Dolley, who stands smiling in the doorway. Abigail's fingers fall away from mine and I turn in time to watch her step back. I don't need to ask to know this is her way of telling me it will be fine.

"I know you cheated on me. Granted, I don't know with whom but…" Abby's elbow connects sharply with my ribcage and I spare her an angry glance before continuing. "But I'm breaking up with you." Dolley's smile falters then gives way to utter panic as she slams the door in our faces.


	27. Author's Note

**Hey, no new chapter, but I'd just like to apologize for not posting this week. My co-writer couldn't write. She saw Dear Evan Hansen, though. And I'm in a show, so I don't have time to write for her. You'll see more of the characters soon, I hope! We love you, faithful readers!**


	28. Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

 _Elizabeth Schuyler_

I wrinkle my nose at the news. "Martha Wayles. Damn. She sounds really familiar."

Maria barks a dry laugh on the other end. "Yeah. She's one of my roommates."

" _Shit_." Maria makes a muffled sound of agreement while I ponder the girl. She's dating Jefferson, so not only did she help Dolley cheat on Maria, she cheated on Jefferson. I wonder how he'll feel when he finds out.

"You feeling any better?'

"Yeah, I actually dumped a bucket of chalk on Dolley's head." I can't name it, but for some reason, her voice sounds like she's grinning. I don't even try to push down the smile that appears on my face. Angelica looks up from her novel with a withering look aimed at me (in retribution for the interruption), but I don't spare her an apologetic glance.

"Anyways, do you want to, um, celebrate the breakup with me?"

I giggle. Only Maria would arrange a celebration for the breakup.

"Sure, but just don't invite Martha." I think this goes without saying.

"Oh, I wasn't - I, uh - I didn't think I would invite anyone else."

"Just me?" Oh. Right. She could mean a date. Suddenly, my mouth goes dry and the words previously streaming out my mouth in sentences get stuck in my throat.

"If you want to."

"I do." Then I realize that kind of sounds like a vow at a wedding. "I want to." Then I realize I'm being stupid. It sounds fine.

"Um, great. I'll be at your dorm in twenty minutes, does that work?" I'm stuck in my own head, racing with excitement, and I don't realize that I'm supposed to respond until there's been a super awkward pause.

"Yep." I hang up before I can make a fool of myself any more. Then I scream before I realize that there's someone else in the room.

"Shut up, idiot," Angelica hisses at me. Theodosia just laughs. I spend most of the twenty minutes until Maria arrives pacing my room and involuntarily weighing every single conversation we could ever have. By the time I've gotten through her confessing her love for me, her finding out my crush on her, her saying she still loves Dolley, and her saying she loves each of my sisters or John, Alex, Hercules or Lafayette, the doorbell rings. It's only then that I realize I'm still wearing patterned leggings and a sweater from the morning, but I don't care enough to change and I doubt Maria will judge me for it. She isn't that kind of person.

I swing open the door with one of those goofy, wide grins on my face that I wish I could tone down. Maria greets me with an identical smile.

"Hey," I say. She fidgets with the strings in the rip in her jeans.

"Hey." I lead her out the door and through the hallway before stopping.

"So, um, where are we going?"

Maria laughs, and it isn't the same harsh sound as before. It's gentle.

"I'll show you." She steps in front of me and starts walking, and as she turns, her hand brushes against mine. I realize I kind of really want to hold it. But she walks faster, and I don't have the opportunity.

Maria finally stops walking after we have signed out and entered the small town that surrounds the school. We stand outside the diner for just a moment admiring the neon lights it's bathed in. We sit in the same place as before - the booth near the window. Soon enough, the young, blond waiter visits our table. The one I was dared to flirt with. The one that makes Maria shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"And what can I get for you tonight, beautiful?"

"Okay, first of all, please don't call me that. Second, we'll take one cherry and one vanilla milkshake." Maria grins and nods at me. I don't think she minds that I ordered for her, and I think she minds much less that I shut down the waiter's flirtatious nature. He mumbles an apology and stumbles away, disgruntled and embarrassed. Maria gives me a subtle thumbs-up once he's gone.

"Gotta love those boys who don't recognize a date when it stares them in the face." Maria chuckles into her clasped hands.

"A date?"

"I mean, yeah. If that's what this is." I nod emphatically. Waiter Boy revisits us without any eye contact but carrying two milkshakes a few minutes later. We gratefully accept them onto the table and spend the next chunk of time sipping obnoxiously through our straws. Then Maria looks up at me, and I take a break from the creamy vanilla drink.

"Hi." A lot more is conveyed in these two letters than when we met.

"Hi," she shoots back, her eyes never leaving mine.

 _Maria Lewis_

I'm on a date with Elizabeth Schuyler. The girl of my dreams. The girl I should have been with this whole time. I don't care that I've just broken up with Dolley because our relationship seems so small and unimportant from this perspective. She cheated on me, and she doesn't deserve any of my time. The only person I can think about is sitting right across from me with her chin propped up on her delicate fingers. I don't know why I ever gave up on her. I can't let her get away from me again. I can't let her slip through my fingers like before.

"What are you thinking about?" Her baby blue eyes finish their sweep of the diner and return to mine.

"Nothing." I raise my eyebrows at her and she shrugs. "Everything. Alex, I guess."

I didn't think it would come to this soon. I thought she was over him.

"What about him?"

"Just… he and John. We can't let anything come between them."

"You're absolutely right. And we can't let anything come between us, either. No girls; no guys. Just us." Her fingers fall from the glass she is drinking from, and my hand travels across the table to take it. She grazes her thumb in patterns on my skin.

"Just us," she repeats in a whisper. I have to close and reopen my eyes to make sure it's real. Sure enough, there's Eliza Schuyler, smiling gently and holding my hand. It's kind of crazy, and I really like it. But it's also kind of threatening, and I feel like I have to say the right thing in order to win her favor.

"So you dated Alex, and now you're on a date with me… ?"

"I'm bisexual, you know, I like guys _and_ -"

"Yeah, got it. That's cool." But I wonder if that means that she would go back to him. I tell myself she wouldn't. Even though I like girls, it's not like I'll go back to Dolley. My logic is fatally flawed. I find my mind wandering off and try to bring it back to right here, right now. In this diner with Eliza sitting opposite me with chapped pink lips and subtle silver earrings.

"You're really pretty." A moment after the words lazily escape my lips, I open my mouth in horror at what I just said. That wasn't meant to leave my brain.

"So are you," she says, not missing a beat, and then she's reaching over to me. Her soft hand sweeps over my skin and touches my hair before she pulls back sheepishly.

"I really like you. I have from essentially the beginning of school, actually, but you -"

The waiter strides up to our table holding a notepad and wearing a very fake smile.

"Can I get any food for you tonight?" Eliza glances apologetically at me before clearing her throat and answering him.

"I'll just have a bowl of mac and cheese," she tells him, a smile playing across her lips. Her smile is stunning. I rest my head in my open palms and fix my eyes on the beautiful blue-eyed girl sitting opposite me at our table. For a moment I let myself stare, just for the time she's distracted by both the waiter hovering over us and the prospect of eating. A silence descends upon the three of us, and only then do I realize that he must be waiting for me to place my order.

"Grilled cheese and french fries, please." I straighten my back and let my hands slip back into a folded position on my thighs. He scribbles something quickly onto his notepad, quickly enough that his writing would likely be illegible to me.

"Great, I'll be back with that as soon as possible." He spins on his heel and I swivel in my seat once more to face my date. The smile that I noticed when lost looking at her stays etched on her lips and it doesn't take more than that to make me smile as well.

"How long do you think it'll be?" she chirps. I shrug and sit forward in my seat.

"My best guess? Twenty minutes. I swear that waiter hates us both. You for the rejection, me for being on a date with you." She laughs and copies leaning stance. I break eye contact with her to give my attention to the milkshake slowly melting in front of me.

"Okay, um, favorite ice cream flavor?" I question her, hoping to spark our conversation back to life after the awkward atmosphere the blond waiter dragged over with himself. She pauses, pondering both my estimate of the time and her answer. I let her take the time she needs, any time spent with her is time well spent, after all.

"Salted Caramel. Or Vanilla," she says decisively. I can hear the smile in her tone when she speaks. And I don't have to look at her to know it's beautiful.

When I look up to meet her gaze, she's closer than expected. Close enough to, at least, make my heart race. Closer than before, I would think. I would if I could think about anything other than how near to mine her breathtaking eyes are. And how she smells faintly of vanilla. And how it would be so easy to just lean over and kiss her. I act on impulse, not even giving myself the chance to second-guess my choices before closing the space between our lips. Someone clears their throat, very loudly and very awkwardly. Red-faced with embarrassment, I tear my eyes away and settle back. I listen to the clatter of plates and trays on plastic but still avoid Eliza's eyes. I half expect her to be angry, or maybe I'm merely angry at myself. But when the waiter leaves us in peace, and I make myself meet her eyes, she's smiling. She glances out into the aisle and when she turns back, this time, _she_ kisses _me_.


	29. Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

 _Alexander Hamilton_

I wait outside the principal's office in one of the hard, wooden chairs that really ought to have a cushion. John had volunteered to accompany me, but I figure it's best to do by myself. After ten minutes of waiting, the secretary glancing up at me only a few times, Aaron Burr leaves the office with an incredibly smug grin. I contemplate giving him the middle finger, but with the secretary right here, I settle on a dirty look. Amazingly, Mrs. Langdon looks up from her computer at that exact moment and matches my glare, all the while typing meticulously. Incredible.

Principal Washington, as it turns out, is as calm as he is intimidating. A tall, bald man always wearing a crisp navy suit and black tie, Mr. Washington wears a constant pleased smile on his face. He's very tall, though, and his presence is often enough to scare students away from disrespecting him. With a glance at the cracked-open door and another at me, Mrs. Langdon speaks in a cold voice.

"Mr. Washington awaits your presence, Hamilton," she declares. Her voice is bored and impatient as if I'm the one taking too long to appear. I rise from the chair quickly and reach the principal's door, embellished with his first initial and surname, in a matter of seconds. I cautiously push the door open further, and Mr. Washington greets me with a tired smile and a beckoning hand.

"Mr. Hamilton," he says, leaning back into his recliner, "I believe you have requested an appointment. Please, sit down." I take a seat in the stationary office chair on the other side of the table between us. Then, reaching a hand into the front pocket of my khakis, I retrieve the field trip permission form that remains ominously blank.

"The issue, sir, is with the field trip." He raises his eyebrows, inviting me to proceed. "I don't have a guardian to sign the form." The man leans forward and clasps his hands on the table, all the while staring me intensely in the eyes.

"Let me make myself clear, Mr. Hamilton. It was I who invited you to this school, was it not? You were living in St. Croix without a family and unable to pay the tuition, but I ensured that you would be able to go here. I have no intention of prohibiting you from participating in any school activities. I must confess, son, that I think very fondly of you. Your teachers report to me your academic diligence and conscientiousness. I will be happy to permit you to join your classmates on the field trip without a guardian's permission. In fact, I will sign the form myself." I simply sit back in my chair in awe of the principal. I don't think anyone has ever spoken to me like this. It brings back memories of the letter I received in response to my essay I had submitted to the school. I remember acquiring a plane ticket with the help of Mr. Washington and my neighbors. I remember everything that led me to this school, to my friends, and to John.

"Thank you, I appreciate it so much, sir," I reply, trying to keep my voice even. Mr. Washington smiles and takes a pen from his breast pocket with his other hand held out for the form. I slide the paper across the table to him and watch as he scribbles out a signature. I can't believe I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to go on the field trip with John. All my classmates have been raving about the camping trips for weeks, and there I was, stressing over a blank line and the possibility of being left alone in the school. Of course, others would be here, like Charles Lee, who has in-school suspension for kicking someone's ass, but I can't say I'd like to find myself in their company.

Mr. Washington dismisses me from his office with another quiet smile, and Mrs. Langdon writes out a pass for me to go back to my last class. When I arrive in the class, John is drawing absentmindedly in his notebook and the teacher is writing on the whiteboard. I can't conceal the grin on my face when I reach my seat next to John's, and when he passes me a note asking the outcome of the meeting, I waste no time trying to find an articulate response. He grins back at me.

The students are dismissed for the day only seven minutes after my arrival in the class, and finally, finally, finally, I can plan for the camping trip. There's a packet of information attached to the permission slip, and my roommates and I converge in the living room to discuss it. The first page is asking who we would like to be put in a cabin with.

"Well, we could just ask to be put together like we are in the dorm," Lafayette suggests.

"Obviously. But then there are four more slots," Hercules adds.

"And they don't guarantee that we'll be put together." John furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully as he speaks, gazing down at the packet. I begin to pencil in the names of my roommates: Hercules, Lafayette, John… Who else? We all have to be one gender…

Lafayette sets his packet down, frustrated, and proposes another idea.

"We don't have to fill in all seven spaces. We can be surprised. Make new friends."

I wrinkle my nose at the idea. "That could go wrong a million ways."

But Lafayette has already flipped to the page that lists items we need to pack and is reading through the list. He glances up at the ceiling every few seconds as if accounting for the item in his head. That's another problem I may run into. I probably don't have all the camping supplies I need - I mean, what even is a tent footprint? It's not like I grew up buying a new thermal sleeping bag every month and going camping every weekend. I'm kind of new to this stuff.

 _John Laurens_

We gather in a mass around the buses. The school hired three buses, nice ones, I am told, even for private school. The lawn is filled with aimless, excited chatter, and each student is weighed down with bags stuffed to their limit. I have a bag slung over each shoulder and a pillow folded between my forearm and stomach. Alex is clutching my only free hand with a childish elation. A few feet from us, I can spot our roommates whispering to each other and looking curiously at the faces that still continue to gather around us. The trip is for two nights and two days, and our carefully selected destination is three hours away by bus. The staff hasn't shed any light on our specific activities, but I have no doubt in my mind that they will be cheesy.

"How many more minutes?" Alex chirps anxiously to me for the second time in three minutes. By now I've come to understand that my boyfriend has not yet gone camping. But, even with that knowledge, his questions have begun to be quite vexing.

"Five, Alexander. Like two minutes away from last time you asked. Seriously, time doesn't go faster the more you ask. I know you're excited, but chill. We're not going to miss the bus. We are standing right in front of it. And they do a headcount before leaving. So everything will be fine." I look at him with a virtually blank face to watch his reaction. His smiles falters, and for a moment I regret my snappy tone. But his vim comes rushing back in wave before an apology comes to my tongue. Alex fidgets with the strap of his bag while his eyes stay fixed on the bus ahead of him. He looks as though he might explode due to the emotion he radiates. As much as it had annoyed me, it's adorable.

"Have you ever been on a bus before, Alexander?" I say, my voice practically dripping with sarcasm. I didn't expect his answer. I thought that maybe he would have been, at least driving or somewhere on his way from the Caribbean.

"No," he deadpans. His smile stays strong, providing no room for other emotion. The bus lurches forward and I look away as the doors swing aside to let us pass. The occupants of our bus flood forward in a thick mob. Chatter strengthens as we mass toward the glass doors in a sluggish clump. Teachers call fruitlessly for order as kids shove toward the front. It takes nearly twenty minutes for our supervisors to load kids and baggage onto the bus, then another ten for silence to fall long enough for roll call.

I settle into my seat beside Alexander, one row down from our friends, and across from two blonde girls with linked hands. I can't see their faces from here, but hushed words from their conversation slip to my ears. They sound happy. I let my head fall to the fogged glass of the window by my head. Alexander's hand brushes against mine, but when I turn toward him he's looking away.

"Everything alright, Hamilton?" He nods and takes my hand.

"I've just never been on a bus. Like I told you." A grin spreads across my face as his words, although I'm not entirely sure why it's so amusing. The bus shutters then begins to crawl down the road, accelerating with each second it moves forward.

" _John_." His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open as he gazes past me out the window.

"Thoughts on bus travel?" I ask him, even though I can see his excitement clearly on his face. I do wonder _why_ he's so excited. It is, after all, just a glorified car. But I can't deny that his eagerness is catching on.

"This is… _amazing_ , Laurens!" He cries out. A head pokes between our seats, and Lafayette's grinning face greets us from behind.

"Hello, boys," he croons, offering us a proud smirk as he glances from me to Alex. Above his face, Hercules pops up, resting his elbows on the rim of each seat. Despite the stupid looks on their faces, I'm so happy that they are my friends. I, once again, fall back against the window pane to watch their conversation play out. All three are smiling and laughing while they exchange glances between each other and the students seated in the rows across from and behind them.

Loud opening music blares over the speakers, causing a few shouts to reverberate around the bus followed immediately by giggles. The music shuts off mid-beat and Mr. Greene rises to his feet to speak. Conveniently for him, the group aboard our bus quiets.

"Alright, kids!" Giggles erupt from the corners of the bus, which he shuts down with a stern glance. "We will be arriving at the campsite in about three hours. There is a bathroom at the back of the bus, only get up if you need to use it. We have a few movies, and we will take a vote on which to watch. First movie, raise your hand if you want it; Titanic." A few hands fly into the air, less than half the bus and definitely not enough to win. "The Hunger Games," he pauses for a moment to wait for the many hands. "And we have The Breakfast Club." It's clear that this option will win by the multitude of hands that fly into the air, mine included.

"Alright!" Another teacher, one I don't recognize, stands beside him with a peppy grin stretching across her cheeks. She pops the DVD into the player and the two disappear into their seats.


	30. Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

 _Alexander Hamilton_

Hercules sniffles behind me, and when I ask him about it, he blames it on a cold. I would have believed it if there weren't tears running down his face. John stifles a laugh beside me.

"It's not even that sad, Herc," John mutters.

"You're right, it's not," Hercules says dryly, frantically wiping away the tears. We've been on the bus for a little over an hour and a half by now, and the bus driver has turned up the pitchy pop music once again. I look around at the students occupying the seats near me. Maria and Eliza are having their own gleeful conversation across from us, and Hercules and Lafayette have returned to their sitting positions behind us. Now John is looking out the window again with a faint trace of a smile on his lips. The bus atmosphere is reduced to muted chatter for a few minutes. Then the boredom becomes unbearable. The functions of the seat are very limited - a place for a water bottle that I don't have, armrests on either side, and the ability to go forward and back. I lean over to John, who seems captivated by something beyond the window, and let all my weight fall against him.

"John," I whisper, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I'm fucking bored." He turns his head to catch my eye and moves it closer to kiss me. As I pull away, I see his eyes dart all around the bus, gauging who could have been watching. Then we hear a loud "oooooh" and know exactly who saw.

" _Spicy_ ," Lafayette shouts.

"Come on, it's not like you haven't done worse," John replies, his face slightly red. Even Maria and Eliza have turned their attention away from each other to investigate the situation.

"Who wants to play truth or dare?" I offer. Maria, who has the window seat, nods and climbs over Eliza to perch on my armrest. Hercules and Lafayette pop up again and stick their heads between mine and John's.

"Truth or dare, Hamilton?" Burr calls from three seats away.

"Dare," I reply with a wink at John.

"I dare you to shut the fuck up and leave us all alone." The truth or dare game comes to a halt, and all of us get busy with other things. John retrieves his sketchbook out of his duffel bag and tries to draw with only one hand while I hold his other hand. He gets frustrated and pulls his right hand out of my grip to secure the paper. As a general rule, John prefers it when I don't look over his shoulder while he works, but it can prove extremely difficult. I try to busy myself with small talk with Maria and Eliza, but then Eliza rests her head on Maria's shoulder, and I feel very uncomfortable and unwanted in the conversation.

John is assessing his sketch now with his mouth all twisted to one side. I sneak a peek at it, and I'm very impressed by what I see. He's drawn a turtle with an equally adorable and realistic face. I don't understand how he manages to draw thing so true to life. If I tried to draw a turtle, it would look like an overturned truck.

"That's amazing, John," I say just as the bus wheezes and stops. Everyone jumps up in unison and swings their backpacks over their shoulders, but the two teachers block the exits and shout over the chaos.

"DO NOT LEAVE THE BUS UNTIL WE INSTRUCT YOU TO!" Mr. Greene yells.

"All these fucking Americans," a British-sounding voice calls from the back of the bus.

" _George Frederick_ ," the other teacher chastises. " _Do not speak to a teacher like that._ " I can't hear the student's reaction, but I do see a single finger raised in the air. The teacher simply glowers.

"Mr. Greene will now give you the lists of who you will be camping with."

Mr. Greene gives her an appreciative nod and steps forward clutching a piece of paper in his hands. He skims the list with scrutinizing green eyes before clearing his throat.

"In Cabin One, Alexander Hamilton, George Frederick, Marie-er, Lafayette, and -" I hold my breath and watch as John crosses his fingers, "- James Madison." I let out my breath in a disappointed huff. I can't imagine all the fun I'll have with George and James. At least I have Hercules to keep me sane.

"In Cabin Two, Thomas Jefferson, Aaron Burr, Hercules Mulligan, and John Laurens." John smacks a hand against his forehead next to me. I would laugh at him if my situation weren't just as bad. Poor, poor John, stuck in a cabin with the two biggest assholes at our school.

"In Cabin Three, Elizabeth Schuyler, Maria Lewis, Dolley Payne, and Martha Wayles." Oh. Shit. Maria and Eliza glance at each other in shock. Martha was Dolley's side chick while Maria was dating her! And who knows if Martha and Dolley are still dating! But I'm sure Maria and Eliza will survive the nights. They are together, after all. The fourth group is comprised of two other Schuyler sisters, Theodosia, and Abby Smith. I don't pay much attention to the names called for cabins five and six. Before I can overthink my cabin, the teachers finally allow us to leave the bus. The students flood out the door amid shouts and shoves, Lafayette and Hercules in the middle of it. Lafayette shouts angry-sounding French words and Hercules bumps into anyone who gets too close. John and I wisely decide not to join the struggle. There'll be chaos enough once we get to the cabins for the night.

Once all the students have piled out of the bus and gathered into a clump by the edge of the campsite, gazing at the thick woods and gaggle of counselors streaming out of a building, the adults in the group, two for each bus, practically jump up in down in order to give directions. Then a tough, muscular woman wearing a neon green shirt blows a whistle to break through the chatter. She steps forward where everyone can see her and shouts with a tremendous voice above the students.

"LISTEN UP!"

" _Americans_ ," the British voice mutters again, this time only a few feet to my left.

 _John Laurens_

I was torn away from Alexander in the tide of students. I stand, now, beside Hercules who looks mildly sick, although his expression may very well be merely the prospect of our cabinmates. But I do have one friend, so I guess I can't complain. I zone out during the directions. It's a bad habit I'm not so ashamed of, but anyway I'm sure Hercules will be perfectly happy to fill me in once they let us break away from the rest of them. He tugs at my arm now, pulling me back to the present and alerting me to the faces turned my way. He must've seen in my expression that I don't know what they want from me because he smiles knowingly and takes the lead.

"Okay, cabin two, let's go, kids!" he exclaims in his exuberant way. Thomas arches a single eyebrow, high enough that it seems like the hairs could arch up and disappear in his wild mess of curls.

"I'm three months older than you, Mulligan," he purrs halfheartedly, he seems to be entirely indifferent to the way my friend addressed us.

Unfazed, Hercules practically skips toward the woods, where, evidently, the cabins are stowed away. The site is beautiful, an open field framed with towering trees. I can spot a worn wooden sign in the distance, too far to read the words etched on to it. I allow myself to stare at the scene for a moment, just until Hercules calls my name to tell me that no one is waiting up.

"Are you the leader now?" I inquire, gazing at him skeptically. He shrugs and his mouth quirks up into a self-satisfied smirk. I certainly don't think there's anything wrong with his leadership. I'm sure it would be a vastly different arrangement with Thomas as the leader.

"Self-appointed!" he chirps. I break into a run to close the distance between me and the three boys with whom I'll be forced to spend the night and the day that comes after. I fall into step beside Hercules where grass shifts to dirt spread across the trails beneath a canopy of trees. The trail shifts into three and Thomas takes the lead this time, falling away from the other groups and heading down the trail with a large 2 carved into the closest tree.

Our cabin is actually nicer than I expected, although looking back on it, I don't know what I expected. The polished wooden floor holds only one small carpet, a red shaggy thing with torn edges, positioned symmetrically in the center. The wall space, like the floor is nearly empty. All that stays propped or pinned to the wood is two sets of bunk beds, made up neatly with blankets of a similar color to the rug. The whole room smells vaguely of vanilla and cedar, but for all I know the scent could be wafting from the hair of the afroed boy by my side. Thomas starts forward, shifting his duffle bag uncomfortably on his shoulder. He hurls the load onto the bottom bunk of the right set of beds. Hercules meets my eyes with an exaggeratedly annoyed look, but it only makes me laugh. At once the two of us make our way to the opposite beds, thankfully far from the other boys.

We gather again in the field, bustling about in our tightly knit crowd that rumbles with chatter. The camp leader has split us into groups, two cabins each. My cabin is paired with cabin three, and I can't say I'm not worried. I didn't see Maria the day she found out about Dolley, but I can imagine how she felt. I follow Thomas' gaze toward the pairs of grinning girls and how both couples have their hands linked in loose knots.

"Okay, students!" A voice pipes over our clamor. "We have set up an obstacle course, now listen to what I say because I don't want any of you kids getting hurt. It's a team-building exercise, take that into account. Working with your team is mandatory, I can tell you with certainty that _you will fail_ if you do not work together. The activity does contain a ropes course; harnesses are required. It's a safety matter and we will not tolerate disobedience with this. Most of it will be in the air. I advise you not to rush too much, although the first group to the end will earn a prize that will be revealed over the loudspeaker when most teams are near the halfway point. Follow me. When everyone is ready I'll let you know that you may begin."

The speaker swivels on their heel and sets off down the trail, leading us in a thick pack behind them. I haven't yet gotten a glimpse of their face, but if I rise onto the tips of my toes I can see a dark ponytail swishing rhythmically behind a head. A set of fingers slide between mine, and when I tear my hand away someone giggles.

"Jesus, Alexander! You scared me," I say, but no matter how I try to sound annoyed, I can't fight back the smile that breaks across my face at the sight of him. I lace my fingers together with his and turn my grin to him.

"Sort of the goal, maybe more… surprise you was my idea," he says slyly. I shake my head and heave a sigh past my lips.

"You're ridiculous, Hamilton," I say with a laugh and let my head drift back toward the front and the swishing ponytail before someone can rush over and ruin the moment on their own. And I'm glad I did because our roommates take no hesitation to run forcefully between us.

"We are going to _crush_ you guys!" Hercules cackles from his newly adopted place by my left side. I grin and nod emphatically although I'm not so sure I can honestly promise that, not with the irksome quarter of our team, paired with the two couples shrouded in drama.


	31. Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Alexander Hamilton

I have to compete against my boyfriend. It's very hard, not because I'm inadequate, but because he looks fucking perfect concentrating on the tasks. Lafayette keeps nudging me when I get unfocused, and I feel bad because I'm obviously one of the smarter cabin members. The first task is pretty easy - a rope swing to cross a semi-deep pit. George insists that he should go first and jumps onto the rope with an elegance he seems extremely proud to possess. He is nearly on the other side when the rope swings wildly and his grip on it falters. He's thrown into the pit below with a drawn-out scream. The pit is four feet deep, and he lands on his feet with no injury. Lafayette reluctantly offers him a hand, but George waves it off and climbs up himself. His second attempt is successful, and I volunteer to go next. I swing to the other side with no trouble, and once I reach the other side, I sneak a glance at the other teams. John is swinging across and seems fairly annoyed with his curly hair, escaping his hair tie and blowing around his face.

Angelica smiles as she reaches the other side. The rest of the team manages to cross without much difficulty, and we're on to the next task. This one is bigger and, at first glance, more dangerous. We are to walk on a tightrope with a safety line above and a seven-foot pit beneath. James looks nervous and hesitant to go, but he hides it well and volunteers to go first. The camp counselors explain that we are in no real danger and teach the best techniques to fall without injury. James' feet quiver and shuffle on the rope at first, but with a tight grip on the safety line, he's able to make it across. Peggy goes next, grinning as she gracefully tiptoes across the rope while Theo stares at her intently, probably planning her own turn.

I step up onto the rope next. I'd never thought that I was afraid of heights before, but trying to balance on a narrow rope seven feet from the ground can change your mentality. I go slowly, trying not to see how the other teams are doing, and focus on the rope beneath me. My hands quiver on the safety line, but my feet reach the other side eventually amid cheers from Lafayette. The rest of the team completes the task with little difficulty except when Abby loses her footing on the rope and lets out a high-pitched yelp. I don't have time to watch John in a huddle with his teammates as they figure out what to do. I don't have time to watch him look back at me and smile. I don't have time to watch him pull his hair into a hair tie. I need to stop looking at him.

"Alex," Theo says, waving a hand in front of my face. "Snap out of it."

"I was right before, you know, we should have pushed him off the tightrope when we had the chance, saved us a lot of trouble," George mutters, waving his hand about dramatically. I narrow my eyes at him. Tall, dark-haired, and exceptionally arrogant. He looks like a high school version of Benedict Cumberbatch.

"Get a grip, Alexander," James says forcefully but not rudely. He's never been the rude one - that's Thomas.

The next task is to fit in hula hoops. It's much harder than it looks. There are four hula hoops at the beginning, and Angelica and Peggy, Theo and Abby, George and James, and Lafayette and I share a hula hoop. Then a counselor walks forward and informs us that we will all need to fit into two hula hoops. George looks sick to his stomach as he sees Lafayette and me walk over to his hula hoops and moves to occupy Abby and Theo's. James follows him, and Lafayette and I join Angelica and Peggy. The sweat from all the physical activity is now visible and odorous, and none of us want to be this close to one another. Peggy hugs her dark blue fleece closer to her body with a grimace on her face. As expected, the counselor says we'll need to fit into one hula hoop. We all pile into one, teetering and pressing into one another as we try to be balanced. Lafayette lifts one leg up, and George uses the opportunity to clear more space for himself. Abby and Theo still have feet outside the hula hoop.

"Alright, guys," I say, rubbing my hands together. "Everyone needs to stand on one leg. And squish together, we've got no time for hating each other." George shoots me a dirty look but moves closer to the middle and hoists one leg off the ground. Theo and Abby are giggling non-stop as they are practically hugging each other within the hula hoop. The counselor applauds us and ushers us along to the next task.

This time, it's much, much bigger. There are at least ten counselors mulling about a large bin beside a path that leads to a tree. The tree is fastened with all types of pulleys and devices and several ropes hang down from a thick branch. On another branch of the tree, this one thin and speckled with berries and leaves, hangs a small, black electronic device, but it's too far away for me to tell exactly what it is. As I approach the bin, I can see inside it - dozens of harnesses organized in three neat piles.

"Take one," a counselor barks. "Small, medium, or large."

"I'm working on my figure," George explains as he plucks a small harness from the bin. Lafayette and I look at each other and try not to laugh. Lafayette, Peggy, and Abby select medium-sized harnesses and I pull on a small one along with Peggy, Abby, and James. The counselor leads us to the tree with his arms crossed menacingly over his chest.

"Here's the plan. One of your teammates is going to be launched into the air in these ropes attached to the tree to retrieve the device up there. How's that going to happen? I'm about to tell ya. You'll clip the harnesses to this rope and run that way -" He points to the right. "And that'll lift your teammate into the air. Deal?" We nod. "Who's going to be lifted up?"

John Laurens

I push a lock of frizzy hair back into the rubber band that binds it behind my head for nearly the tenth time. The problem with my hair is that it's too long to not put up and just short enough that when I try to keep it back, the dark strands fall lifelessly around my face. It's incredibly annoying, and swinging across the pit with the wind my face proved to be no help.

I watch from off to the side as Hercules tangles the harness around his waist and struggles with the buckles that have begun to rust in their years without being replaced. Personally, I think this course is far from safe. But there isn't anything I can do. I let my eyes wander across the space and easily find Alexander huddled with his group around a nervous looking James Madison. He looks elated and the expression suits him well. Overall, I have been disappointed I couldn't swap my cabin mates for Lafayette and Alexander. The four of us would absolutely enjoy our time together more than any time spent with Thomas and Burr.

"John!" I turn in time to catch the bundle of rope and metal thrown my way and look up at him with bewilderment.

"Put it on!" he calls. I had forgotten I would have to cross the rope too. I look up, at the lines strung across the trees, and swallow back my fear. Much to our luck, no other team has started their way across. I traipse across the dirt to Maria's side and offer her a smile. Eliza has drifted away to strike up a conversation with Aaron, who is walking slowly toward the clips on one side of the tree. Neither of the pairs of girls has said a word to the other.

"Hi." I give Maria a toothy grin as I speak. She returns the smile, but I can see that it doesn't come as easily to her as to me. Which I can completely understand in her situation. She brings her hand up in a little wave and I stoop to pick up the harness as it slips from my hands. I slip the worn straps around me and fasten the buckles carefully. I don't want to go up there, not even in the slightest. And since I have to, I'll do all I can stay safe.

I watch as Aaron fastens the silver clip to the frayed ropes tangling his body. To me, at least, this whole procedure screams unsafe, but he's already started. He flies across the grass at a sprint then before my eyes his feet are wrenched from the floor. A guttural noise leaps past his lips, halfway between a shriek and whoop of glee. His take-off was rocky, but now, instead of flying across the packed earth, he's flying through the air and my teammates cheer as he crashes his way onto the platform that waits high within the clutches of the old oaks. I allow my eyes to wander again, scanning the open space for signs of my friends.

I feel a hand press against the small of my back. But I barely listen when Maria's voice tells me it's my turn. Burr may have been smiling, but the thought of being so high up and so unsupported clouds my mind and freezes my feet in the dirt. A few of them are staring at me now, with concern written across their features.

"You look pale." I smile, shake my head, and push Hercules aside. The clips dangle freely beside me now, and when I press down on the edge it slips easily into place around my harness. When I fly into a sprint, I barely have the time to get half of the distance before I'm in the air. The feeling is strange and glorious and when I close my eyes I truly do feel like I'm flying. It ends quickly, and again I can feel the solidity under my shoes.

"John!" I swivel my head and Burr points lazily toward the origin of the voice. Alexander's shining eyes stare back at me from the platform a couple trees over. I raise my hand in a little wave and he grins. Another form materializes by his side and the rope swings away again. Scrambling feet hit the boards next to me as well. Looking back, I come to realize that in my time distracted by Alex my teammates have landed with me and Burr on our platform. They usher me along but each and every one of us come to stop when we hear a scream.

It doesn't take a genius to know someone's fallen or to know that it was James before looking down. I see the terror on Thomas' face and I know that only James could warrant such a reaction from the boy. I think for a moment that we may have to hold him back from flying straight off the platform to get to his friend. He isn't moving, but neither is anyone in the trees. The horrifying thought that he might have died hits me but I set it aside noticing the urgent way people bustle around him. I wonder if anyone has died on school field trip.

A hand settles on my back, and behind me, Maria's frowning face peers over my shoulder. She lets her hand fall away and I once again fix my eyes on the ground. James no longer lays unmoving on the ground and by now all but one staff member has cleared the floor as well.

"There are ropes behind you. I'd like you all to head down. Your classmate is being taken care of right this moment. He is fine, so no need to worry." Apparently, Thomas does not agree. "Everyone head back to your cabins, you can wait there and entertain yourselves for the time being. A counselor will come to get you and bring you out to our campfire when everything has been sorted out. Just everyone stay calm. Thank you!" The dark-haired man retreats off in the other direction, probably to find the others and Madison. I turn to my classmates, some already clipping carabiners back onto the straps of their harnesses for their trip back down.


	32. Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

 _Thomas Jefferson_

All I know is I was getting ready to leave the platform and now I'm crouched on the ground next to my best friend who is bleeding. He's fallen from all the way up in the trees and his eyes are closed and there is blood on his body and he isn't moving. I can't hear anything and all I can see is my best friend who I love more than life itself and he's not conscious. There are people yelling and telling me to get out of the way, but I can't pay attention to anything other than the boy lying on the ground with his arm twisted behind his back. His eyes are closed and there's a pained expression on his face and I want him to wake up. Need him to wake up. Need him to open his eyes and scoff at my dramatic nature. I need him to be James, normal James, to wake up and talk to me like everything is normal. I want him to be the James who makes my stomach twist and words catch in my throat and makes it hard to catch my breath. An adult rushes forward and presses a finger to the inside of his wrist and waits a moment before sighing and standing up.

"His pulse is slowed, but his heart is beating," she yells over to the other people. I am frozen next to James, searching his face for any sign of waking up. He is motionless. He's not waking up. The siren on an ambulance interrupts the calm of the woods and drives up to us. Two people put James on a stretcher and bring him into the vehicle. I follow, screaming his name and trying to keep up.

"You need to go back to your cabin," a blond-haired counselor tells me, putting both hands on my shoulders.

"No. No, I can't. No. No! NO!" The counselor continues to try to persuade me, but I break away from his grasp and run inside the ambulance. One paramedic inside gives in and tells me what she's doing each time she adjusts a piece of equipment connected to James. The ambulance starts up, but I don't see the landscape flash by outside or hear the kind words of the paramedic. I can only hear the silence coming from James. Not his usual silence, not quiet or peaceful, but loud and restless, the sound of absence.

By the time we arrive at the hospital and James is carried inside, he still isn't conscious. The paramedics sprint inside the building and people move aside to allow the stretcher carrying the injured boy to pass. There's my James, lying motionless on the stretcher, unlike what he was before. If he doesn't ever wake up, he'll never know how much I love him. I never got the chance to say those words to him. If saying them would help him wake up, I would scream over the commotion of the emergency room to reach him. But nothing I say will wake him up, and I can't even follow him. A woman in scrubs apologizes and urges me to sit down. I lean against the vending machine, not wanting to sit where so many ill people have before. There's nothing I can do except wait now.

A few hours later, as the sun sets behind the window and the waiting room partially empties out, I retreat to the couch and will myself not to sleep. The image of James in a hospital bed with a heart monitor next to him flatlining keeps me awake most of the night, but I must fall asleep at some point because a nurse nudges me awake and I realize there's a baby blue blanket spread over my body. The nurse looks at me and smiles sympathetically.

"Your friend isn't awake yet, but you can visit him now if you want. There have been some complications because of his genetics. He's a very sickly child," she says. I thank her and rise from the couch. She leads me down hallways and finally into a small hospital room. James lies on a bed wearing a casts on his arm and leg. His eyes are closed and his stomach rises up and down with each breath he takes. James is alive and breathing and sleeping and he looks like an angel with his halo of messy hair and slightly open mouth. I settle into the chair beside the bed as the nurse tells me she'll duck out for a few minutes. I first look at James, peaceful and innocent with a faint smile on his sleeping face. Then I decide to say a few words to him.

"James," I say, suddenly hesitant. What does it matter if I say how I feel about him? He won't hear it; he's fast asleep.

"I've wanted to tell you this for a very, very long time, but I never had the courage because I was afraid of rejection. But when I was afraid I would lose you, I knew I didn't have a choice. The truth is, I was the one who sent you the Valentine note in fifth grade. You know, the one that says, 'I have a crush on you but I'm too scared to tell you?' That was me. I pretended I saw Marcy put it in your locker, but that was a lie. I wrote it because it was true. I've liked you since elementary school. Even now, I can't imagine dating anyone else. You're such a wonderful person, James. You're kind and intelligent and you're much less dramatic and problematic than me. You don't attack the people you hate. Everyone loves you. I wish you knew that I'm the one who loves you the most. That's all, James. Maybe when you wake up you'll love me back. Maybe that fall knocked some sense into you." I chuckle, pat his hand resting on the blanket, and leave the room after taking one last look at James. He's almost completely still, but it isn't scary anymore. He looks like he's taking a nap.

The nurse meets me on my way back to the waiting room. She tells me she'll run some tests and if the results are good James will be able to go back home soon.

"Our school is actually on a camping trip," I explain. "I think he'd like to go back there."

The nurse considered this with furrowed eyebrows. "But what about all the activities…?"

"I can stay back with him or ask if we can do some sitting around stuff. I'll make sure he rests and stays safe."

"You really love him, don't you?" The nurse says with a smile. I back away, stuttering and mumbling dissent.

"He would be insane not to love you right back," she says. I smile and wish it were true.

 _James Madison_

She's right. I would be insane not to love him right back. But I do. Love him, I mean. I love the way he makes me feel, and the quirky smile that graces his lips when he knows he'll win an argument. I don't know when I realized I love him. Maybe it was on the plane, or even before then. But I do know I should have figured it out sooner. Listening to his speech, lying with my eyes closed and my breathing steady on that ivory hospital bed, it was difficult beyond imagination not to leap into his arms and kiss him right then and there. I couldn't do that though, and not only because of the pain keeping me grounded. I wanted to hear his monologue. I wanted to soak up each and every word that tumbled from his mouth. If only he'd been able to speak them under a more positive, and preferably romantic, situation.

He's walking now. I can hear his feet thumping steadily against the tiles. When I open my eyes, his back is turned. He stands close to the window, and I can see his worry-stricken face reflected on the clear pane. I speak, and my words come out strained and brittle. Weak. But it is enough to catch Thomas' attention and bring him sprawling toward me with strangest expression I've ever seen on his face. He stops, a foot short of my bedside, and looks down at me with a expression so full of love I'm worried his heart could very literally implode. Or mine.

"How are you feeling?" he asks me. I just want him shut his mouth and come closer. And he does. He inches forward slowly and takes his place, sitting tentatively on the edge of my bed, steering clear of my broken body.

"Fine," I tell him, in my strange, croaky, use-deprived voice.

"When did you wake up? Do you feel alright? Do you want me to bring someone over?" I laugh, or at least attempt to. It's so unlike Thomas to be this concerned.

"A few minutes ago. Enough to hear your speech. You're pretty good at hiding things - if you really mean it, that is." His eyes widen. Maybe I wasn't meant to hear his confession.

"James. I-I didn't think you heard that. I'm such a fucking idiot." He presses a fist to his forehead above his squeezed-shut eyes. I want to reach out to him or bring him closer, but exhaustion and pain tie me to the mattress. I shake my head and a smile stretches across my lips with ease. He's adorable, even when he's embarrassed.

"So you meant it? You love me?" He doesn't respond. His face has gone red and he stares at my hand, perched gently on my healthy leg. I outstretch my fingers and cup his face in cold hands, and only then does he look at me. His face is filled with worry and, I think, hope. I know what he expects me to say, but I also know what he wants to hear. The room has gone silent, all but for the soft hum of machinery. His lips are slightly parted, and his hands folded in his lap, and I don't know what do besides keep on waiting for him to speak. When it doesn't look like he ever will and his head drops down, I clear my throat.

"I'm in love with you…" I say, only then realizing I have been holding my breath. He stares, dumbfoundead, for a moment before jolting closer and engulfing me in his strong embrace. His touch sends pain shooting through my limbs. It's too much pressure too soon. But his grip relaxes, and the pain subsides, and I let myself melt into his arms.

"And he's BRITISH!" Peggy practically shouts to her sister. Her giggles ring out around our gathered classmates, and beside me, Thomas rolls his eyes. He has an arm around my shoulders, holding me close at his side. I don't think he's left my side since he returned to the campsite. Like he's worried that if he lets go I could fall again. But I don't actually mind. It feels nice sitting here like this with him, listening to Peggy rant on and on about George Fredrick. I wonder if anyone has actually given her words any thought.

I look up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Thomas' face, and his eyes are already trained on me. He truly is perfect, and right now I don't even mind the stares of our classmates. Even though I can feel their eyes drilling into my skull. His hands moves to cup my face, and I lean into his touch. I feel his thumb tracing my jaw, and my cheek tingles where his fingers make contact with my skin. I close my eyes and let everything around us fade into the background. The people, the camp, the numbness in my limbs. But everything comes flooding back in a thick wave of noise, giggles and whispers, and one voice cheering in a hushed tone. Thomas' hand falls away and the grass rustles beneath him. I focus my admiring eyes on the features I can still make out in the darkness when he stands. He takes a bow and few kids laugh.

"Now, kindly… shut the fuck up?" I can't _see_ his face, but his sickly sweet voice conveys his expression all too well. He falls back into his seat next to me on the ground.

Maria and Eliza are still in their cabin because we didn't get the chance to notify them of the plan, but hearing the commotion nearby and seeing the glow emitted from quite a few flashlights is likely to make it clear. Sticks crack and footsteps interrupt our peace announcing the arrival of John and Alex. Alex raises his free hand (the other one tangled with John's) in greeting and surveys the crowd with skeptical eyes."Why is _he_ here?" he whines, pointing at Thomas. A frown pulls at his lips when no one replies. The boys take a seat by the two Schuylers that actually showed up for our little gathering, and not once does Thomas' glare falter from Alexander.


	33. Chapter 32

**Peggy x KG III is quite the odd pairing, even we don't ship it outside this fanfic. Let us know how we dealt with it.**

CHAPTER 32

George Frederick

Sticks bend and crack beneath my feet. The campsite is full of cold spring air and moldy cabins without running water or electricity. I can't fix myself a cup of tea until we get back, but I don't reckon I'll survive that long. My cabinmates don't make the field trip much of a thrill either. They're always yelling or swearing or sweating. Now they've dragged me along on their midnight escapade to meet the others by the woods. At least I'm not the only one who minds the cabins. Alex has scampered ahead to get off with his boyfriend and so has Lafayette, so I'm lagging behind and wishing I were back in London. In London, there aren't all these bloody Americans (though there are a fair amount) running around and spouting nonsense. Back in London, there aren't pretty brunette girls who look at you funny when you open your mouth to speak.

The most interesting thing that's happened on this trip and for that matter the school year so far is that one chap falling on his bum from a tree. He didn't scream or cry, just went straight unconscious looking like death warmed up. His boyfriend was the one who screamed, of course. Charged into the ambulance like a bull. Something must have happened at the hospital that night because the next day they were back and couldn't keep their hands off each other. Now the group of us have snuck out of the cabin to meet the rest of the Americans. I can't say I'm excited to escape with them, but I prefer it to sleeping in the cabin alone.

If I'm being honest, it's lonely here in the colonies. Everyone here knows each other and, even if they loathe each other, they're certainly comfortable in the group. But for me, it's just uptight teachers and a bunch of faces that all look alike. In the end, or at least when I get to a prestigious university in the States, I won't give any of these people another thought. So really, it doesn't matter what they think of me. The teenagers are seated on various logs and fallen trees in the outskirts of the woods. There are several flashlight beams illuminating smiling faces and patches of soil. I can hear soft laughter and words whispered between friends. If anyone goes to check on cabins one, two, and four, they'll find quite a few empty beds. It seems blind of all of these kids to assume they won't get caught. I settle on a log occupied by only one other person, a brown-haired girl who has pulled the edges of her friend's blanket up to her knees and shivers every few seconds. My jumper covers my arms and torso but only keeps in cold air that already chills my chest.

Two of the students glare at each other from their respective places on logs opposite each other next to their respective boyfriends. One boy looks bored as his eyes return to a page in a book after appraising the other students. A girl with dark curls cascading down her shoulders waves her hands in the air as she giggles through a thrilling story directed towards her audience. The brunette closest to me glances my way as I adjust my feet on the ground. She holds eye contact with me as I rub my hands together in a futile attempt to create heat.

"You don't have a coat," she says, lowering her eyes to my navy jumper and shirt collar sticking out of it at the top.

"I have a jumper." My tone is somewhat irritable yet does not drive her away.

"A jumper?" she repeats, giggling. Her giggle, light and airy as it travels through the air between us, makes me tense and sit up straighter.

"What's so funny?" I ask, harsher this time, narrowing my eyes. She tries to steady her breath enough to answer me. Now she looks a little nervous.

"It's just - we don't call it a jumper here in America," she explains. "It's a sweater." She points to her own chest, covered by a woolen yellow "sweater." When I look away and don't acknowledge this new information, she angles her body toward mine. I now catch the eye of the girl nearby whose story has ended and leads a posse of inquiring glances in my direction.

"I'm Peggy, by the way. Well, my name is Margarita, but no one calls me that. It's kind of old-fashioned." She speaks quickly and lengthily, brown eyes scanning the air from the darkened sky to the log we sit on. I think she can, and most certainly will, go on and on unless I interrupt.

"George Frederick," I say, leaning across the log toward her and extending a hand. She grips it firmly and shakes, and I notice that my touch is like a glacier on her lava-coated skin. A strand of brown hair falls from her ponytail to obscure her right eye, and she breaks the handshake to put it in place. There's nothing to warm my palm now, and it reverts back to its frosty temperature. Peggy watches me for a few seconds with an interest that gives me the instinct to move farther from her on the log, but I stay put long enough to hear someone's voice raise to the highest possible volume it can without being heard by nearby counselors. "Let's go rescue cabin three."

A few students stand up with Peggy in the lead and look towards the cluster of cabins situated on a hill about a football field away from here. I turn toward it as well and though I am unable to determine which cabin is cabin three, some of the excited energy transfers to the students surrounding me. I stand up as well and hush the others who have begun to formulate a plan in whispers. With Peggy's eyes drilling a hole in my back, I move toward the center of the students gathered on logs and clear my throat.

Peggy Schuyler

Despite being neither native to the United States nor the school, George has decided to lead our attack on cabin three. We march together toward the row of cabins nestled back against the outskirts of the woods. The cold air bites at my exposed skin and whisks my hair back from my face. I look around at the chapped smiles covering my friends' faces. Their hushed conversations drift away with the breeze. I have to hustle to match my pace with that of the tall boy a few steps ahead. I smile when George looks my way. When a smile brushes his lips I feel heat creep up my neck. Thank god for the dark. As we near the cabins, all noise dies out with little warning. All that reaches my ears now is the soft rustle of grass bending beneath feet and the whispers of the wind as it rushes past my ears. I can spot lamplight through a window now. The window of cabin three. I wonder if, trapped together, the girls have solved something between them.

George pulls ahead of our group to approach the door. He knocks, loudly, four times, and a voice calls out for us to "come on in". He obliges, pushing the door aside and holding it back long enough for me to slip past him and onto the smooth floorboards inside. The cabin looks much like mine. Every decoration and position of furniture up against the walls is the same. But the atmosphere tension in the room is so strong it seems almost tangible. My sister and her girlfriend sit on the top bunk of one of the two beds, Maria with her legs dangling down and Eliza with legs tucked beneath her. Across from the couple, Dolley and Martha sit on their respective beds. Although Martha has a book sitting open on her lap, she stares at us in the exact same way as the other three.

"It's a rescue mission," I pipe up through the silence. A smile cracks my sister's face. My friends file in around me and filling the doorway. I survey the faces more closely. Dolley sits, poised, on the edge of her bottom-bunk bed. Her mouth sits in a half smile, and she's looking at the crowd in their doorway curiously. Maria's hand lies beside Eliza's, and as I watch her finger twitches sideways to touch her. Both girls are smiling now. Martha alone has a blank expression on her face.

"Damnit, girls, get up," Angelica utters from my right. Eliza laughs and abandons her post on Maria's bed to join us. The rest soon follow suit.

As we march away from cabin three, a boy slips close to my side. His dark hair falls in soft waves around his face, and he's smiling. I like his smile. It's sort of cocky, but at the same time it's cute enough for me to want to know what's really making him smile.

"George," I greet him. He nods my way and clutches the sleeves on his sweater in his clenched fists. He's shivering now, clearly the product of the lack of a coat. Thanks to an overprotective sister and another sister that worries enough for three, I have enough layers to keep a cold-blooded animal warm in the dead of winter. I shrug off my jacket and hold it out to him. He looks at me blankly, very clearly not understanding that I want to give it to him. I nudge his shoulder with the jacket, and he glances at it and then up at me with a confused expression. I roll my eyes and wait until he understands. Finally, he gratefully takes the jacket from me, pulls it on, and zips it up to his chin. He glances sideways at me as we continue to walk, and it seems like he's assessing my motives for helping him.

"Why are you here?" he asks once we've nearly reached the hideout by the woods.

"Excuse me?"

"This field trip is for juniors only, correct? And yet you, a sophomore, are here."

"How'd you know I was a sophomore?"

He waves his hand to dismiss the question. "Obvious."

I don't think it's quite as obvious as he suggests, but I keep it to myself. We both settle on the same log as before and watch as the group returns to their conversations. Maria sits with her arms around a shivering Eliza, keeping her warm. Couples sit perched together on logs, and some have seated themselves in the soft blades of grass littering the ground. My sisters and Maria are enthralled by some conversation that, no matter how I strain, I can't hear from my post by George's side. I return my gaze to his face only to find his eyes trained on me. He doesn't look away, just keeps on staring. Inspecting me. I shrivel under his dark eyes. I feel blood rush to my face, and once again thank the night for cloaking the bright hue of my cheeks.

"Being a Schuyler does have its privileges. I guess it's the only reason I'm here," I inform him, face set. I am determined not to convey the way my heart races just a little when he looks at me. He cracks a smile at my words and his head bobs up and down in understanding. I may not really know this boy, but so far I haven't seen in him what so many of my friends complain of. He doesn't seem aloof or cheeky. Maybe just a little lost. Like he feels that he doesn't belong here. Either with us seated in the cold night air or just here in general. And I do know what that feels like. I love my sisters unconditionally - Eliza, with her pure heart and way to make anyone feel safe and at home by her side, and commanding Angelica, protective and always willing to fight for loved ones. But sometimes I don't know where I fit with them. I feel like the forgotten Schuyler more than anything on some days. Forgotten and overlooked. That's why I liked the chance for a new school. A new school means new people and new people means people who don't know my sisters and just might put me first.

"I see." George lets a hand fall onto my shoulder. It rests there for a moment before he draws it away.

"Do you miss home?" It's a stupid question. Of course he does. Who wouldn't? He humors me anyways and smiles as he begins to speak.


	34. Chapter 33

**Paranoia - game in which you whisper a question into someone's ear, they answer aloud, someone flips something that determines if the question will be told to the group or not**

CHAPTER 33

 _Alexander Hamilton_

It seems that teenagers only realize that they've stayed up all night when the sun rises and their eyes haven't closed once. It seems that I am one of those teenagers, and the counselors will surely wonder why the majority of the students are exhausted today. At one point during the night we all decided that since the fun had reached its maximum and decreased from there in a parabola resembling questions on my algebra homework, that it was much more logical to sleep in warm, soft, mediocre bunk beds. Of course, this did not mean in any way that the cabin assignments would be obeyed. Nearly everyone has piled into cabin one and is draped over beds and railings around the room. Burr, the only one able to sleep tonight, snores from an armchair under the window. Peggy has talked all night with her newfound friend, George Frederick, as the two of them shared a blanket on a log. When Angelica saw this she was less than happy, but Peggy assured her that she was safe and happy, if not well-rested. Now John and I are in the top bunk of cabin four. John is leaning against me with drooping eyelids as I sustain a discussion with Angelica and Thomas about politics.

Sun infiltrates our hideout in a blinding glow through the window, and Thomas curses and raises a hand to his eyes to block out the rays. It's surprising to everyone that we haven't yet gotten into a fight, which is mostly because Thomas is more focused on James' well-being than he is on insulting me. Even the energy between Maria and Eliza and Dolley and Martha has gotten more relaxed, even if they haven't spoken to each other for the past twelve hours. It's only five-thirty in the morning, and we're scheduled to begin activities at eight forty-five, meaning that we have three hours and fifteen minutes to waste away before we are required to be active.

"Guys," I begin, sitting up straighter and squeezing John's hand for emphasis. "All we've been doing for the last three hours is sitting around, and a few of us are about to fall asleep. Besides, we have a feud going on and it's not getting solved if we continue like this."

Angelica slow claps to show her mock approval of my statement and Thomas raises a finger in dissent.

"Stop calling it a feud, Hamilton. I just find you repulsive."

"Not everything is about you, dumbass," says John, who is clearly more observant than Thomas. "He's talking about the girls."

Everyone turns to the girls themselves except for Angelica, who stands up, dust off her sweatpants, and announces that she will we be rescuing Peggy from "that pretentious British guy." Silence falls on the cabin once again.

"We need to play a game. Or coffee. Coffee works too." I nudge John in the side or the head, whose body has gone lax against mine. "And you, love, need to wake up."

Maria nods in agreement and stands up, beginning to walk around and pace, and I can almost see the gears spinning in her head, thoughts and ideas streaming out like paint dripping from a canvas. Eliza, leaning back against the wall in a hoodie and leggings, watches her with eyes nearly closed. I kiss the top of John's head, separate our hands, and find the least hazardous path down the bunk bed. I join Maria in pacing around the limited floor space, strategizing.

Before either of us can begin to formulate a plan, Angelica bursts through the door with rosy cheeks, out of breath, dragging Peggy by the collar. George trails behind looking scared. I don't blame him. I have unfortunately been on the receiving end of her fury, and I can't pretend it was less terrifying than it truly was. Apparently, in addition to dragging them all the way, Angelica has decided to hold a trial in the middle of the cabin.

"What were you two doing out there all night?" she questions, hands on hips, more motherly than I've ever seen her. Peggy inches toward George for support.

"We were just talking," she hisses, face flushing a scarlet that's not a result of the cold weather.

"Your sister's cool," George adds in that accent of his. Lafayette rolls his eyes. If I've read his mind correctly, he thinks there's only room for one European in this cabin.

I stand on my tiptoes and wave my hands frantically to get the attention of the group, but George's tall frame blocks me from view, and Maria has to raise her voice above all the commotion.

"We're going to play truth or dare or never have I ever or talk about our feelings!" The room erupts with frantic statements against talking about feelings, and I add to the noise. I didn't come here to go to therapy with fifteen other teenagers in a small log cabin with two bunk beds and far too many raging hormones. I settle back into the top bunk bed next to John, who looks considerably more alert. A discussion follows Maria's announcement about what we will be required to consume if we have done an action that has been said. Since there is no alcohol on hand and many of us vehemently oppose it, we've decided on a bag of spicy hot chips to pass around until the chips of unknown origin run out. Once everyone seems reasonably satisfied with this solution, the game commences.

"Never have I ever broken a bone," Eliza offers, nudging the red bag of chips into the middle of the floor. James laughs, reaches into it, and pulls out a triangular chip covered in what looks like crimson powder. He closes his eyes as he lowers it into his mouth and winces as soon as it makes contact with his tongue. The bag of chips travels across the room as nearly half the participants undergo a special kind of torture borne out of Pandora's box of spicy hot chips. Once it reaches me, I stuff the chip into my mouth as fast as possible, hoping this will reduce the pain. It doesn't. The powder burns my tongue and stings the roof of my mouth until I am crying and begging for water. Unfortunately, no one has brought water on this trip because everyone here is a fucking imbecile and I am left defenseless with a spicy hot chip annihilating my mouth.

 _John Laurens_

"Never have I ever broken a bone."

"Never have I ever flirted my way out of punishment."

"Never have I ever walked out of a movie before it finished."

"Never have I ever cut my own hair."

The questions continue on and the bag circulates the room in a never-ending loop of spices and pain. Cheated on a test, said I love you on accident, cheated on a _person_. That one's directed with a bitter tone at Dolley and Martha across the circle. Hitchhiked, sung karaoke, danced in an elevator, cried in public. My tongue burns and my eyes water and each time the bag of chips draws near I internally groan. Alexander sits by my side with an adorable grin on his face as he takes another chip from the bag. Chipped a tooth, gone hunting, read a whole novel in one day. Mouth on fire, groans of pain, screams begging for water. Beat someone up, swore at a teacher, had your heart broken.

I remove myself from the circle and get to my feet. Only Peggy notices, and she offers me a smile on my way out of the cabin. The crisp air fills my lungs but the cold does nothing for the flames inhabiting my mouth. Soft light floods the field stretching out in front of the cabins and reflects off the pond in the most beautiful way. I stretch my arms above my head and fall back against the rough wood sides of cabin one. I can still hear the laughter and pick up bits of conversation from inside. I close my eyes, pretending not to hear the soft rustle of dew-soaked grass under someone's feet as they trudge toward me. I can hear their breathing next to my ear now, so I open one eye to catch a glimpse of the face beside me. Alexander's lips curl into a smile when he spots my eyes on him. So maybe someone else did notice after all.

"Pain too much for you, Hamilton?" He doesn't even bother to reply, only keeps that cute smile of his plastered to his lips. Noise bursts from the windows and I meet his eyes with a look of curiosity. What would someone have asked to spark that much repercussion? The sound dies quickly and I allow myself to settle next to my boyfriend, head on his shoulder, hand casually brushing against his.

"Why'd you leave?" he asks, breaking the moment of peaceful silence.

"I wanted some air. And I got sick of the taste of the goddamn chips," I inform him. "Plus, you have to admit, it's a lot nicer out here. Quieter. Less spicy."

"That is very true, Laurens. Anyways, sleep deprivation makes people annoying. I swear if I spent another second in there I might've knocked someone's teeth out. By someone, I think you know I mean Thomas."

"I got that part, Alex." We fall back into silence once again, and it only comes to a close when I speak up. "So what if we proposed a new game or something else? Anything else. Literally anything _not_ involving those fucking chips. Seriously, who brought them? They are actually the worst thing I've ever eaten, like worse than pickled onions. Or… or Brussels sprouts." He cracks up at my annoyance, so in return I jab my elbow into his stomach. He doubles over for a second and I panic, thinking maybe I've actually hurt him. But, when I draw closer he doesn't hesitate to send me, and probably by accident him, sprawling toward the pond's edge. I dig my heel into the soft dirt and catch the two of us before our bodies can hit the water. He laughs and tangles his arms around my neck.

"Great idea, we'll play a new game. And Brussels sprouts are not gross." His lips brush gently against mine before he retreats back to the front of the cabin, pulling me behind him by the wrist.

"New game!" he shouts as he pushes the cabin door aside. Each and every face turns his way, staring at him with confusion. Maria holds the bag of chips in one hand and a red-dusted corn chip in the other. Even looking the at thing hurts my tongue. I allow Alexander to pull me forward into the room with little protest.  
"Go on, what's your game?" A voice pipes up from somewhere in the back of the cabin.

"Well, I guess that _maybe_ playing something like… let's say paranoia, could help get stuff off our chests?" I watch her pop the chip past her lips. She barely winces at the spice. I have absolutely no idea how she does it. People voice their approval all around the room and soon we just collapse into a quiet buzz of conversation.

"Okay! So, I'll start?" Alexander barely waits for a single response before leaning over to whisper a question in my ear as the two of us seat ourselves in the circle. It's sort of hard to hear, but I get that he asks me who in the circle 'I would most like to make out with'. I squint at him, eyebrows raised, mouth set in a weird line.

"You kidding, Hamilton?" I say, in a voice that squeaks a little more than I'd like it to at the end. I roll my eyes and say his name, at which he smirks. He fishes a coin from his pocket and sets in my open palm. I flip the coin and watch it spin then land on tails. A collective groan rises from my friends seated around us.

"Who in this room do you like the most," I mutter into Lafayette's ear. He tells me, and everyone else, that his answer is Hercules. I can see the stress unfolding on Hercules' face as the word leaves his mouth. I pass the warm coin over to my friend and he flips it onto the floor. The heads side lands face up and Lafayette voices my question to the room. I watch the smile spread across his face a few people away. Heads turn side to side and people continue the game, giggling and whispering questions into the ears of our classmates.


	35. Chapter 34

**Listen, I apologize for the British stereotype. I totally don't believe that at all. (Yes I do.)**

CHAPTER 34

 _Elizabeth Schuyler_

Paranoia gets boring after a while. The coin takes a liking to landing with the tails side up, and whispered questions don't leave the ears of their targets. With such a big group, secrets that may shock one can bore another. And couples retreat back to their safe space of holding hands and sharing glances that shut out the rest of the world. Even in paranoia, participants get less and less paranoid until bordering on indifferent. Eyelids droop and interest dips low until only the desperate are still alert in following the game. It is early in the morning, of course, and by this time some people are regretting staying up all night. Evidently, Maria is not one of them. With a leather jacket halfway zipped up and scarlet lipstick refreshed for the day, she leans back against the wall, fully awake but not fully interested in the game. I feel my eyes growing irritable with the growing amount of light festering in the cabin, and as much as I want to close them, I can't.

"What if we play this game, minus the whispering?" Alex suggests. Despite being the one to introduce the game, he seems awfully tired of it. I think we're all fond of the decision to exile the bag of chips to the corner of the room, though. Leave a group of teenagers alone with a bag of spicy chips, and nothing ever goes right. The red stains on my tongue are the least of my worries at this point.

"I concur," Angelica says. "George, what are your intentions with my sister?"

"W-what?" His British accent is so overwhelming I can almost tell why Peggy hangs around with him so much. Almost, but not completely. "We're… friends? She's nice, I guess? And funny?" He ends each word as a question, as if trying to convince himself and Angelica that his words are true. Peggy giggles uncomfortably from her spot on the couch next to him. Angelica points to Abby.

"Nope. No. I'm getting John from cabin five." She stands up and leaves, skirt flowing behind her from under her winter coat.

"Okay, I have one," Maria says, speaking up for the first time in an hour. "Why the hell did you cheat on me, Dolley?" The entire room goes silent. This is what they wanted, right? A confrontation? Well then, they should be happy.

"I'm sorry, Maria," Dolley says, forcefully. "I swear it had nothing to do with you. I made a mistake when I chose to be with you. I thought I could fall for you. I was wrong."

I take Marias hand and watch as Martha does the same with Dolley.

"And heaven knows Martha will kill me if I ever do anything like that again." Now she looks up, blue eyes uncertain as she searches Maria's face for emotion. "Truce?"

"I - I don't know…" Maria stalls, looking at me. I wish I could help her. I wish I knew what to do in this situation.

"Fine. Truce." Dolley smiles, still a little nervous, and reaches forward a hand to Maria. She shakes it, they share a quick smile, and the whole room can breathe again. John gives Alex a high five, which leads to them holding hands as John kisses Alex briefly on the lips. Angelica groans and pretends to gag, but some others cheer.

Now that we've accomplished what may be the most difficult issue all day, the room is much more relaxed and open. I scour my own mind for a good question to ask anyone, but I can't think of anything I want to know. George, however, knows exactly what to ask.

"So who's a thing in this room? Like, an item?"

I raise my arm, connected to Maria's, and look across the room to see Dolley and Martha, John and Alex, Thomas and James, and - what?! - Hercules and Lafayette follow suit.

"And who has a crush on someone in this room and/or school?"

Aaron Burr raises a hand that is nearly glued to his side. Theo also raises her hand, and so does Peggy. Angelica looks pointedly at George, who concedes and says, "Okay, fine, me too."

"Now what the bloody hell are you all waiting for?" George shouts, leading the room to erupt in laughter. Theo walks over to Aaron and says something to him, which causes Aaron's face to break out in one of its rare smiles. George turns to Peggy and kisses her on the cheek. I almost squeal when I see the shade of red Peggy's face turns. Taking a deep breath, I turn to Maria, whose eyes are already on me. I take hold of her shoulders and lean in closer. I take a deep breath, knowing nothing can prepare me for what I'm about to say or the reaction I want.

"Maria Lewis, I am in love with you." She grins at me and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

"Nonsense. _I_ am in love with _you_." And just as the room starts to turn its attention to us, the lights turn off. Someone screams. Then the lights turn on again in a blinding flash, and a stocky woman in khaki shorts yells into the cabin from the doorway.

"You've got some explaining to do!"

"It's all my fault," George says, standing up and bowing his head in shame. "I brought them here to share tea. You know, I'm British, so I can't go a night without tea. I'm truly sorry, you know."

The counselor ignores his explanation and points to each one of us. "Boys and girls together in a cabin at night!" As we glance at each other, we know it isn't worth it to explain that that isn't a problem for most of us.

 _Maria Lewis_

I barely listen to the counselor's angry confrontation. I don't care enough to know what she has to say about all of us lumped into one cabin, and I have more important things on my mind. One is jealousy. But I don't know why I'm jealous, I have no reason to be jealous. I don't care for Dolley in a romantic way. Maybe not even in a platonic one, but nevertheless, I am seething with a jealous rage. I want more than anything to crawl across the space and shout in her face. I want to make my feelings for her more than clear.

The cold breeze is wafting in now through the half-open door. I don't know if the angry counselor can also feel the icy air, but she isn't showing any sign of it. She's just standing there now. Standing there and looking pissed. I do my best to block out the negative thoughts and focus on what really matters. Eliza loves me. No, she's _in_ love with me. Is there a difference? I feel heat creeping up my neck and flooding my face with a bright pigment that seems very out of place. I feel her hand brush against mine and I tangle our fingers together in a loose knot.

"So are you planning to just… stay here or what?" A single voice breaks out of our huddle, a very irritated voice at that. In that moment Martha almost brings a smile to my face. Almost. Maybe her words and frustrated tone would have brought me joy. Maybe they would have if she hadn't taken my girlfriend from me.

"Boys and girls should not spend the night in the same cabin. I'm here to let you know because you are all way too loud in here and this shouldn't have happened in the first place. You all have a few hours before you will be collected for more activities, and until then I expect all of you to collect your things and head back to your cabins." I look around. Aside from the crumpled bag of flaming chips balled up in one corner, no one has bothered to bring anything. I rub a fist across my tired eyes and slide forward on my knees. The vexed lady in khakis spins on her boot-encased heel and marches through the ajar door to cabin one.

"She does know not one of us is actually going to leave, right?" Eliza pipes up with a goofy smile painted over her radiant features. Everyone grumbles in affirmation seconds later. I feel her head fall against my shoulder and lift up within moments. I turn and take her grinning face in mine. Her face heats up where I've placed my hands. I smile and press my lips gently to hers. I can hear the chorus of "aw"s from every direction, and I pull my head back before the noise can attract angry khakis lady back to our cabin.

At eight in the morning, we are all awoken by a blinding light that some jackass has decided to turn on. As the group collectively groans and shields their eyes, the perpetrator is revealed, holding the door open with a trail of followers lingering behind her. It's the same counselor as before with the same scowl and the same gruff voice that gives me the urge to cup my hands over my ears in anticipation.

"We're about to start the day. Time to get ready!" I can tell she will not hesitate to unleash her army of camp counselors on us, but while we stretch and complain and rub our eyes, everyone gets the idea. I take Eliza's hand and lead her out the door to cabin three as throngs of teenagers follow different paths to reach their cabins. Soon enough, cabin one has been completely evacuated except for Alex, George, Lafayette, and James. With only one very small bathroom in the cabin, two of the least patient of us must find a private corner and turn our backs to change. I lean against the wooden wall clutching my backpack to my chest while Eliza washes her face inside. I can almost picture her in their - maybe she's dabbing on a bit of blush or deciding between lip gloss shades. Maybe her hair's in the same mess it was yesterday, or maybe she's combed it out until it's smooth as velvet. All I know is she definitely looks beautiful. And no matter how little sleep I'll be operating on, I can't wait to spend another day in this beautiful campsite with a beautiful girl I can call my girlfriend.

Eliza pushes open the door and shyly adjusts her hoodie. I smile at her, press a kiss to her cheek, and enter the bathroom. It's painfully small and plain without a bathtub or enough space to take more than a few steps. All it has is a very short sink and a toilet, which is fortunately clean and has no odor. I slip into my outfit for the day, leggings and a tank top with a leather jacket on top to shield me from the cold air. I yawn, inspect my face in the mirror, and try to solve the impossible problem of what to do with my hair. With a bun piled on top of my head and my backpack in tow, I leave the bathroom to find all three girls placed uncomfortably around the room and - thank God - fully dressed. I take Eliza's hand and lead her out the cabin door and through the damp grass with the idea of breakfast to motivate us. We don't speak, not about my fear that I have shadows under my eyes to rival a solar eclipse or about the formerly unspoken feud between us and Martha and Dolley. All I need this morning to keep my feet moving is her hand in mine.

The dining hall is inexplicably loud by the time we arrive. Boys are already shoving each other in line for breakfast and girls discussing things over plates of French toast and cups of coffee. I spot the girls from cabin four and push through the masses to reach them.

"Angie, Theo, Abby, Peggy," I say, dramatically raising a hand to my forehead. "How are we expected to function after such a night?"

"I know, right?" Angelica sighed. "It's like we're hostages or something."


	36. Chapter 35

**This is it! We'll write an epilogue and short things about the characters whenever you guys want, but this is basically the end of this story. Thanks for reading! We love you!**

CHAPTER 35

Alexander Hamilton

The group lets out a collective cheer as we stumble down the narrow stairs that lead to the sidewalk in front of the school. Three or four students thank the bus driver, who is already in his own world with pop music blasting in the bus. We're free from being cooped up in the bus, and we're miles away from the den of suffering with counselors swarming the place like parasites. And even though Thomas is mere feet away from me, John is fewer feet away from me, and if I've done anything right during this school year, it's meeting John. And liking him. And becoming his boyfriend because there is no one I'd rather be with. I take his hand and kiss it, and he laughs. The bus is rolling away down the street now, and the best part of this is that it's four, which means we don't have to do any work for the rest of the day. I sigh and close my eyes, feeling the air caressing my face and John's arm around my shoulders. It doesn't even matter that George is loudly confirming his extensive knowledge of whatever subject it is this time to the group in his irritating accent.

"John?" I tilt my head to look at him.

"Alex?" His eyes focus on my lips.

"What happens after this?"

"We go back to our dorms? Or hang out off-campus, legally this time?"

"No, after next year. After graduation."

John's face falls. I can tell he hasn't thought about this before.

"I want to go to art school…"

"And I want to go to law school." I take both of John's hands in my own.

"We're not going to break up." I think I say this just in case it makes it true. If I say it out loud, maybe I won't lose him.

"I can't even imagine meeting someone else I'd want to date," John says. I force a smile onto my face. Of course it's true for me, but will his pledge remain with all the tall college boys out there? When he gets onto his campus, will he meet a cute roommate who flirts with him? Will he forget about me, and will I be back to square one without a family or anyone who loves me in this country? I can't think about that - not yet. I need to take this one day at a time, and today, John loves me.

"You're kinda cute, you know," I say, pressing a kiss to his jawline.

"So are you," John replies. We now notice that a majority of the students have entered the building already, so we run, hand in hand, to reach the double doors before they lock. Luckily, we catch them and continue to run for lack of a reason not to the dorm. Lafayette and Hercules are already unpacking in their bedrooms, but since we are out of breath and too excited to be practical, the two of us settle on the couch.

"I love you," John says, leaning into me.

"I love you more." I kiss a freckle above his eyebrow.

"You guys are gross," says Lafayette, emerging from his bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest and a bitter expression on his face. John takes my face in his hands and makes a big show of kissing me to annoy Laf further, and Lafayette plays along and backs away making retching noises. I laugh until the back of my head has fallen into John's lap and his fingers are stroking my hair. We've been dating for so long, but I still feel that same uneasy jolt in my stomach when he touches me as the first time we kissed. And I still feel the same urge to pin him against a wall and kiss him. Nothing and everything has changed.

I wonder if there's an alternate universe where we aren't together. Maybe we stopped being friends after the whole Eliza incident and I moved on to a different group. Maybe I sat alone every day and watched him. Maybe we got over the incident and stifled our desires in order to continue being friends. Maybe we steal glances at each other from across the table in a parallel universe. All I can do is thank God, science, or whoever runs the universe that I'm living in this universe where John is my boyfriend and pray that I'll keep living in it. Nothing can pull me out of that universe. Not, not graduation, not time or distance. I won't lose John no matter what. I swear on my life that I will not let him get away. I will come back here from wherever life takes me and take his hand again and tell him that we are meant to be. Because who the hell could let a guy like John go?

We sit in silence in our thoughts, pondering parallel universes and chances that were taken and whatever goes on in John's head. I reach up and capture John's lips with mine and try to transfer all my love and hope and passion in that one moment of contact between us. He pushes all that back to me as his eyelashes brush my cheek and the force of the kiss knocks me backward. I laugh and take a deep breath of the sweet sweet air that graces my lungs and the air around us. Thank God for boyfriends and dorm rooms and high school and love songs and field trips and violating the school's curfew. Thank God for yellow roses and passing notes and cafeterias and school dances and antique stores and stolen kisses. Thank God for you, John. Thank God for us. If I were a poet I'd write a love song for you and claim our love was the first of its kind. But I'm no poet. All I can do is kiss you until we can't breathe and tell you I love you and never let you go. I'll never let you go, John.

John Laurens

Something's going on inside that busy mind of his, and I can't tell what it is. Alex is smiling slightly with his eyes unfocused, and it's both hilarious and strange. I find myself wishing I could just read his mind; it certainly would make things easier. His smile only grows by the second, and when I finally get around to choosing to ask, he cuts me off with a kiss. That's all it takes to destroy every thought in my brain. He does tend to have that effect on me. The effect that makes everything inside you melt. I open my eyes when I feel the air between us again.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him. He smiles and shakes his head, the gesture sort of annoys me but in a way makes me want to laugh. I lean in, hoping to sneak another kiss.

"Booo! Get up, get ready. We're going on a double date and you guys better be ready in…" Hercules' glance flicks to his wrist where a watch is buckled loosely. "Ten. Not ready and we take off without you." I exchange a look with my boyfriend, to which he nods emphatically. If I'm being honest, I don't know why we haven't yet been a double date, seeing as the four of us are actually quite good friends. At least in my mind, we are. The couch shifts beneath me as Alexander's weight lifts from the cushion beside me. I take his outstretched hand and use it to pull myself onto my tired limbs. My friends retreat down separate hallways and I hear the sound of three doors slam behind three bodies. I start off after them, padding silently on the wooden floor. I don't want to lose him, any of them really. They made this year so much better, I love each of them more than I know how to say. When they leave me I know already what I'll miss. I'll miss the talks and laughter with Hercules and the genuine comfort that Lafayette brings me. Alexander most of all. I love him. Hell, I'm in love with him. I'm in love with him, and his smile, and his bright eyes, and every moment we've shared over the time we've been together. But I don't doubt that he'll move on. And someday I will just be the guy he used to date. He won't be there anymore, not to comfort me, or to sneak out after the curfew just for a few hours of solitude. All I can do now is enjoy every second I spend by his side.

I push aside the door to my room and shed my stained t-shirt for something that's at least a little impressive. I close the door and select something I can only hope he'll find flattering. I don't know what else to do, being so in the dark about our destination as I am, so I settle for penciling on some dark brown eyeliner.

"Ready, Laurens?" Alexander's head pops through my doorway before his full body appears in my bedroom. "The other two are already getting impatient and… I don't know where they're going so if we're making it a double date then we better hurry." It takes me longer than I'd like to form a response. All I think is that he looks incredible. He changed his shirt as well, although I wouldn't have asked him to. I take him by the collar and plant a kiss on his lips. When I break away, he's grinning. Hand in hand, we walk from my room.

"Okay, okay, so!" Alexander giggles out as he hurries along by side. They two of us, both shorter than our friends, have to strain to catch up with them. They're both grinning and acting infuriatingly smug about all this. A look I have seen many times of Lafayette's face but not as much on Hercules'.

"You letting us know where we are headed or not?" He concludes. His fingers twitch in mine as he speaks, and he skips a step to keep pace with me.

"No! It's a surprise, who would ruin a surprise just because those who are being surprised wanted a little clarification on our destination?" The four of us fall, once again, into silence for the remainder of our walk. All there is to listen to is the sound of our feet hitting the pavement and the cars speeding by us on the street.

The place in question is a small restaurant illuminated by soft shades of red and yellow. It has a nice feel to it as the bricks and fairy lights and all around soft tone just bring a happiness to the surface. Hercules exchanges a few words with a woman in a slick coffee-colored ponytail and a smile so radiant I look away. But maybe that's just a curiosity about the place our friends have chosen and if there's actually something different about the place. But it may just be the mood. The coffee haired girl takes the lead. She brings us to our table, where Alexander slips ahead to pull out a chair. He straightens his back and melts his features in utter seriousness as he indicates for me to sit.

I barely listen to the conversations from both next to, and across from me. I don't even care what they're saying in the moment. I inspect everything and let their words fade to a background buzz, the red napkins folded neatly before us. The baby's breath and roses sitting in a thin glass vase nearly perfect in the center of our table. I look up from the table top, for Alexander has laid a gentle hand on my forearm. I see now that each of the three boys is staring at me.

"What's up, Hamilton?" I say. A smile cracks across his lips. The light falls on his face in the most beautiful way.

"What do you think you want?" I shake my head because I haven't bothered even touch my menu yet. I'm not sure. Maybe it's that I think actually ordering will speed up our double date. And at the moment I want no part in that. I tell him to pick something for me because I trust him not to choose something entirely disgusting and sit back in my seat. I'm perfectly content to just sit here and live in the moment. Because for now, everything is perfect. And I never want it to end.


	37. Epilogue

**I know, I know, sadness. But at least we didn't kill everyone off.**

Epilogue - 8 years later

George Frederick

The idea of a date with Sam is daunting because we already know each other. Not well, of course, but we spoke a little bit in high school. We became better friends in senior year but never close enough to keep in touch. Now, seven years from that graduation day and the party where we kissed, with a degree in astrophysics that has proven useless so far, I walk into the restaurant. It's somewhat aesthetically pleasing but too loud to keep up with its exterior. There are families and couples and individuals seated throughout the room at booths, tables, and on stools. The noises emitted from their conversations form a gentle hum in the background of the place, and somehow it's comforting to hear. Before I've been standing inside for five minutes, the footsteps follow the sound of a door swinging open and then closed behind me. A man starts to speak, and I have to tear my eyes away from the bright walls to pay attention. I spin on my heel to face Samuel Seabury.

"George," he says, taming his hair with a quivering hand. A nervous habit, which proves he's nervous. About seeing me? It seems unlikely. Why would anyone other than George Frederick hold on to the memory of one tiny kiss for that long?

"Sam," I say back, smiling at him. His eyes flick down reflexively to my shoes and then back up again. Checking me out. Shamelessly, I might add.

"You want to find a table?" He nods and steps forward. I watch his eyes travel across the room in the same way mine did minutes before. He begins to walk ahead of me, his pace brisk and faster than mine, and I follow him to a table near the center of the space. I've never been fond of eating where people's eyes are likely to wander, but this isn't a one-man show anymore.

Samuel picks up a menu composed of only one laminated sheet and a bulleted list of dishes. He scans through the options and he's so focused on the menu that I have to remind myself that I'm not supposed to be watching him. Eyes on menu, not cute boy across from you. Maybe it's weird because it's my first date ever. Well, first boy date. I only came out a few years ago, and I didn't exactly have time for partying with the gay community at Harvard. I was, you know, studying astrophysics.

"What?" Sam says with a nervous laugh. Oh shit. I'm staring again.

"Nothing. I, um… I like your shirt?" He's wearing a white button-down with a crescent print on it. I would never put that on my body, but I think he should wear it every single day for the rest of his life.

"Do you?" He looks down at it, and his glasses slip to the bridge of his nose. He grins when he pushes them back up and I swear to God, I'm this close to leaning over and snogging him.

Samuel Seabury

Frankly, I'm not sure how I managed to achieve a date with George. But now I'm here and with each second that passes my level of nervousness fall a little more. He looks incredible, but knowing George it's no surprise. He puts thought into his appearance I think, and it definitely pays off. While I keep my own eyes fixed on the menu before me, I can feel his gaze piercing my skull. I've caught him staring twice now. The thought of that both unnerves me and makes my heart beat just a little faster. For me, he's one of the people that maybe I imagined myself with but never thought it could be more than a fantasy. I lift my water glass to my face. The cold liquid is drastic compared to the atmosphere in which I am overheating.

"So I know this was nine years ago, but what happened with you and Peggy?" I ask him in an attempt at breaking the silence that fills the space between us.

"Still not over that?" he jokes, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Honestly, nothing. It lasted about two days, just until I came out to her. And we've been best friends ever since." That makes sense actually, I really didn't see much chemistry between the two to begin with. Except for Peggy's obvious attraction. Despite that, I was jealous.

"Ah," I say. "So nothing? How about in college? Anyone catch your eye? Any people I should worry about? Any ex-boyfriends from your school?" I am mostly joking, but it does come as sort a relief when George denies all of them. Although I don't believe him, it's probably better we do altogether avoid the subject of other romance. Who wants to talk about that on a first date.

"What do you want to eat?" Maybe I'd been quiet for too long and that led to George switching the subject. I shrug and turn my blushing face back to the menu. Most of the food looks good, so I pick randomly and set it down. I'd much rather resume a conversation with my date. I watch him scan the paper far more carefully than I did. The look on his face is absolutely adorable.

When he sets down his menu, I try again to strike up a conversation. I ask him about his college career, the people he met, and the friends he made. I ask him about Peggy and how her life is going now. He tells me all this with a smile on his face the radiates confidence. God, I wish I could be more like him sometimes. Apparently, Peggy Schuyler does actually have a boyfriend now. He tells me who, from high school, he's kept in touch with. And about his trip back home. When the waiter approaches our table I almost want to ignore him just to keep George talking. I let him order first, then with a smile on my face place my own order. He leaves and I turn back to George.

"So," I say. "Things went well?"

James Madison

Thomas Jefferson has come to pick me up from college on our anniversary. He's walked all the way from the south wing to my dorm in the sunshine that illuminates his face and the wind that sends his hair spilling out in all directions. I watch him walk down the path with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows from the window above the sink for a few minutes, just until he reaches the petunias. When he does, I can't resist watching him reach down and smell them and then pluck one and tuck it behind his ear. Thomas is taller than he was in high school and broader in the shoulders, but he still sounds the same when he talks to me and his lips feel the same on mine. In a way, nothing has changed.

"James, love? Are you here?" He props the door halfway open with his foot as he calls to me. I walk over to him with a smile so big astronauts could see it from the moon. I slip my bare feet into sand-colored sandals sitting neatly to the side of the welcome mat. I go on my tiptoes to kiss Thomas hello, but he leans back with a smirk and I swat his face. He dips his head down to kiss me, just one short second like a beat in the script of a movie. Thomas takes my hand a drags me out of the dorm, letting the door bounce against the door behind us until it finally closes. Thomas squeezes my hand.

"Where do you want to go?"

I snort in response. "As if. You have it planned out, don't you? I never get a say."

"You never ask for one, love."

We continue in silence, marveling in the spring air that doesn't sting our faces anymore and admiring the flowers that line our path. I look up at Thomas and the petunia in his hair. He's so beautiful, and it makes me want to sing his praises from the top of the tallest university building in the north wing.

"So, Thomas, where do you want to go?" He smiles and looks ahead at the field in front of us. When we play this game, Thomas always waits for me to ask him where he wants to go, and when I do, he's smug about it.

"I want to take you to a waterfall. And I want to have a picnic near said waterfall and talk to you until we can't stand each other."

"Well I already can't stand you," I joke. Thomas plays along, clutching his chest in faux shock. "You know you're the best thing that ever happened to me." He turns his head away from the flowers he's been eyeing for the past two minutes to look me in the eye. His smile steals the breath out of my lungs every time, and there's nothing I wouldn't sacrifice to see his smile for years and years and years. But that's not something I, or even the doctors, can control.

Thomas Jefferson

I don't know what to do besides stare numbly ahead. Tears are burning in my eyes and I don't even bother to wipe them away, because he's gone. James is gone and he's never coming back. I knew he didn't have long. I knew I'd have to say goodbye soon. But nothing could've prepared me for this. I lose myself in my own thoughts, my memories of James and our time together.

I met him so long ago I barely remember our first exchange. My earliest memory of the two of us is also quite long ago. I believe we were on a swing set. We talked for almost an hour and towards the end, I very clearly remember telling him I wanted to go to Paris. When he asked me why all I knew to say was that they had croissants. He kept that moment in his mind so long that he surprised me with a trip to France during our gap year. On the way there, he recalled that story to me. God, I love him so much. No. I loved him. I still don't want to believe it. I'm not ready to embrace the fact that he's dead. He had been sick for so long but I truly thought he was getting better. He was fighting and I was hoping we would have a future together. And now I'm standing here, at his funeral, wishing that he would pop up from behind me and tell me that everything is okay, and he is okay.

One of my fondest memories of him is from middle school. Although the three years were absolute shit, James did manage to make it a little more tolerable. Especially during the classes that really bugged me. Classes like math and science. I did learn to like them as my experience progressed, but during that time, when every minute wore me out, he kept me entertained. We spent quite a lot a time laughing, and I'm sure a few teachers started to feel vexed by us.

"James was…" I pull my focus back to the present. And however much I'd love to just hear more about James, I don't want the pain to increase. I'd rather focus on my fond memories of my boyfriend. Not someone else's. But I had my chance to speak, and now it's someone else's turn. The tears come flooding back as I listen. His friend speaks about his mischief with James while laughing and crying and very clearly struggling to keep his voice steady.

I remember some of these stories. In fact, I don't think there's a single one I haven't heard. That gives me some pride, that he'd trust me with all these things are obviously important in his life. His friend steps away and another replaces him. I wait out speech after speech and watch James' friends and family cry along with me. None of us want to let him go.

"Are you holding up okay?" A whispered voice draws my ears away from his cousin and to a family member standing by my side. I try to spare him a smile, but it does no good. He holds out his arms to hug me and I fall against him. I'm falling apart and James is no longer here to pick up the pieces.

Maria Lewis

I swing my leather jacket over my shoulder as I check the clock for the third time in the last ten minutes. One hour left. I'm aching to go home. Business has been slow and those few people that strayed into the bookstore did nothing but piss me off. This time, when the doorbell rings to let me know that a new customer has arrived, I don't even look up from my own book lying open before me. My eyes and mind stay within the story on the pages but I speak anyways.

"Hello. Welcome to the…" I look up with a lazy smile on my face but even that vanishes at the sight of the girl standing with her back to me by the shelves. Elizabeth Schuyler is still beautiful. I stand motionless, because maybe if I don't move she won't notice me. What I don't understand is why she hasn't come to visit before now. She knows I work here, at least to the best of my knowledge. She turns to look at me, and at that moment I'm so so close to ducking beneath the front counter.

"Maria?" It's been three years since I've seen her. Since she broke up with me. It wasn't as bad as some breakups, though, and we did keep in touch. She just told me that it might be better to "take a break" if we would be apart for so long anyway. So the only way I've spoken to her in that time is over text messages. "Hey!" She rushes forward and pulls me close to her, pinning my arms to my side in a strangling hug. The gesture makes me smile because I missed this. And I missed her.

"How are you doing, 'Liza?" I ask her.

"Good! It's been too long, though, I missed you." Her grin is contagious. I step around the counter to have a conversation with her without a thick wooden box between us.

"You too… what have you been up to? Did you start dating anyone?" The question leaves my mouth before I think about my words. I wish I could take it back now, even though I'm not sure why I care. Three years is more than enough time to get over someone.

"I haven't, why do you ask?" I'm almost too caught up in my own embarrassment to notice the way she completely ignores my other question.

"No! I am…" I tip back and forth on the tips of my toes and search for the right way to put it. "Just trying to uh… catch up?" She smiles like she knows exactly what I was thinking. I wish I knew what I was thinking.

"How about you, what's new? Any secrets you're just dying to tell someone? Any new crushes you're nervous about telling? Any new…" she trails off and I take it upon myself to fill in the blanks. I shake my head. Other than this job, my life has been normal. I would have filled her in on anything over text.

"Can I help you find anything?" I ask.

Elizabeth Schuyler

Somehow, in my head, Maria hasn't changed at all. I still picture a smiling, crimson-lipped, flannel-wearing seventeen-year-old staring back at me. But now, facing her in the quiet bookstore that smells of dust and childhood stories, the image blurs and rearranges to better reflect the truth. Her face is longer and more serious now, framed by shorter, wavier hair, but if anything her lips are an even louder color. She puts her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and looks at me with the same expression as before. Her lips tip up at the corners to challenge me in a way that I can't seem to make sense of. And her eyes search my face in a calm, trusting way, if not a bit inquisitive.

"What's the best book in this store?"

"The best book?" She tips her head up to think, tapping a slow rhythm on her chin with her index finger. I admire her cheeks, her eyelashes, her jawline. A mischievous smile overtakes her face as her eyes flash with an idea or a plan or something of the like.

"Let me show you. I'm not technically allowed to, but, as they say, oh well." She holds out a hand as if by instinct, and I place mine on top as a reaction. The smile resurfaces on her face as she weaves through stacks of books and bookshelves labeled with genres with me trailing behind until she reaches the back. We duck into the door together and she uses a key in her pocket to unlock another door that takes us out of the cluttered room and up a staircase.

"It's the storage room," she shouts over the whirring of the air conditioner. The room above the staircase is beautiful. There are boxes of books, some shiny and new, some with fading colors and ripped edges. Maria steps back and spins slowly around with her hands spread out. I approach the tall box containing fantasy novels. The first one is a book whose inside cover mentions a league of brainwashed young adults attacking a minority of sensible teenagers.

"Sounds like our high school," I say to Maria as she reads the sentences. She giggles and takes a step forward to look me in the eye.

"I haven't shown you my favorite book yet." Her voice is almost in a whisper, low and captivating. She turns and bends down to sort through a particularly low stack of books encased in a cardboard box that advertises backpacks very enthusiastically. She pulls out a thick book and traces her finger on the cover design, a profile of a girl with hair made of velvet and skin that shines like metal. The title reads, "Eliza."

"I read this book constantly when I was young. And then I met you, and I was sure it was meant to be because you were just like her." I take the book from her hands, rub my finger along its spine, and watch her face tense and then relax when I lean forward and kiss her.

Marquis de Lafayette

Practically everyone warned me against choosing Herc as my roommate. Maria assured me that the relationship would fizzle out, Angelica laughed when she heard, and Alex gripped me by the shoulders while telling me very seriously that it was a bad idea.

"You two both go to a lot of parties," he had said. "And what if you go to two different parties and get drunk and meet someone…"

"That can happen no matter what," I had replied, shaking him off. They've all been wrong so far. There are more parties, but we go to fewer of them, choosing instead to stay up studying or talk late at night. We've only gotten in an average number of fights, and none of them have pushed us further away from each other, so I would say that we're good. Hercules majors in fashion design, and I am more than willing to be his model either in the dorm room or in the school's annual fashion show. Almost everyone we know has already graduated, scattered throughout the country with stable jobs and significant others. Thomas isn't doing so well without James, as I've heard, but a weekly email chain from at least five other students who went to our high school tells us that things are going well for the majority of the alumni. Angelica sends a riveting tale of smashing the patriarchy monthly, whether it be vandalizing sexist signs or leading a rally, and Maria tells of sweet everyday observations set in the bookstore where she is employed. Hercules and I, on the other hand, don't have much to report. But I plan to change that.

"Babe," I say one morning, tapping the drawing Hercules examines with skeptical eyes from his seat on the couch.

"Yeah?" He looks up and smiles at me as if this were the first time we met. As if instead of a messy college dorm it was a dull French classroom and we were two seats apart instead of next to each other on the couch. As if the spark were still there which, if I'm not mistaken, it is.

"I want to take you somewhere." The forms are filled out, the plan made, and all I need to do is convince Hercules to take a break. He pouts at me, so I lean forward and kiss his frowning lips.

"If you put it like that…" he jokes, chuckling. I pull him from the couch by the hand and lead him through the winding hallways of the school. With the recovered knowledge that Hercules is much faster, I'm the one dragged along now, past dorm rooms and classrooms and framed paintings on the walls. We reach the front doors and Hercules follows me down narrow sidewalks that lead to a building tucked neatly behind a larger structure. I drop his hand to push open the heavy double doors. He glances around at the advertisements tacked onto the bulletin while I stare straight ahead, having memorized every inch of the space.

Hercules Mulligan

I think I've asked him a thousand times where we are going, to no avail of course. We cleared the end of campus long ago, but he shows no sign of stopping. His eyes are set ahead and wherever he has decided to bring me, he is hellbent on getting there. Lafayette has pulled a few steps ahead of me, and now I have to struggle to catch up. Despite my height advantage, he is considerably faster.

When he finally stops, I just look at him and grin. He has lead me to the animal shelter. The one farther from campus, where the space between buildings begins to get bigger. Therefore, this is the one that fewer people go to.

"I want a dog," he tells me flatly. I don't say anything because I would never argue with that and I don't think I need to tell him that I wholeheartedly agree. The place is fairly quiet. Most sounds consist of the radiator humming persistently and the soft noises of animals conversing from their separate cages. A smiling boy with dark hair drifts our way and opens with a classic offer.

"Can I help you with anything?" Lafayette repeats his statement about a dog, to which the boy smiles and beckons for the pair of us to follow. The barking grows louder and pushes back the humming. Lafayette's grin only grows with each step, and he looks so fucking ecstatic right now that instead of watching the dogs press their paws and noses toward us, I watch his face. The employee's words bring me back to our goal.

"Any specific age? Older? Younger?" Personally, I'd like a puppy. But given that it was my boyfriend's idea, I let him answer with his preference. It's like he reads my thoughts with his answer when he says he too, would like a puppy. The boy fires off question after question about what sort of dog we'd like. Lafayette waves him off and says we just want a puppy to care for. He brings us around a corner and almost immediately Laf gravitates toward a cage with an excited and mildly floppy beagle.

"Do you want to say hi?" Laf nods emphatically to our helper and steps aside for him to unlatch the door and pick up the small dog. With only a warning to be careful with the dog, the boy hands her to an open-armed Lafayette. With the small dog in his arms, he looks like he might literally explode from such extreme happiness. I watch him with the dog and I know that even if I wanted to protest I have no chance against this puppy.

"I want her!" He squeaks out when the puppy licks his face. I step closer to his side to check the paper pinned to the door. The dog is (according to the sign) female, two months old, and comes with the name Maggie. Personally, I like the name. Although I can't guarantee Laf will feel the same way. We follow the employee back through the maze to the front room to finalize our ownership of our new puppy, settled contently in Laf's arms.

Alexander Hamilton

The email was addressed to both of us, John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton, and it was sent to the addresses that could be accessed from our website. The man started off by complimenting our book - he had read it recently, he said, and he wished it existed when he was growing up - and then went on to say it was a favorite of his daughter's. This was all leading up to his momentous request that we visit his eighth grade English classroom to give a presentation to his very bright and very engaged students at the very school that John attended as a kid. I stared at the screen for a few minutes and then at the framed cover of the novel on the wall, and then I called John's name. I could hear his footsteps, fuzzy purple socks hitting a hardwood floor, before I saw him. He was holding a half-eaten apple in one hand and a pen in the other. I motioned for him to read the email.

"Alexander Hamilton," John said, grinning like an idiot. "I was delighted when we got published. But now our first school visit? It's Christmas." Then he hugged me from behind and looked on as I replied to Mr. Barrett.

And now, after three months of exchanging emails with logistics and exclamation points and two hours of "tie or no tie?" and the like, we're standing outside the classroom. John has grabbed my hand in his own and it's kind of warm and damp, but mostly familiar and comforting. With my free hand I'm clutching several pieces of paper I've written and printed to be used in the presentation. The tall man inside the classroom catches my eye and soon his face grows closer until the door is opening and Mr. Barrett is greeting us. I give John's hand a squeeze before walking into the classroom and waving to all the students. They're each holding a copy of Midnight Pride in their hands and wear huge smiles. I can't help but imagine John sitting in one of those chairs with his old messy hair forming a halo around his face.

"Hey guys," I say, not even trying to stifle the grin that pulls at my lips. "I'm Alex, and this is John."

"We think it's really cool that you all have read our book."

"Don't interrupt me, loser," I say, reaching up to tousle his fluffy hair. John slaps my hand away and redirects his attention to the group seated in front of us, most of whom are giggling.

"Before we begin, do you guys have questions?" A ginger girl sitting in the back tentatively raises her hand.

"So how do you, like, get past the initial stage of hating everything you write?" I look at John to ask if I can answer the question, and he quirks up the left side of his mouth in approval. I puff out my cheeks and let out a slow stream of air before beginning to speak.

"It can be really hard - trust me, I know - but really you have to just accept that it might not be perfect but it does have to get written in order to have something to work with. Does that make sense?" The girl nods and jots something down in her notebook.

"So what would you all like to know? Stuff about the book, the process…?" John begins.

"Is there going to be a sequel?" A boy calls out.

"Maybe," I say, smirking. "Okay, yes. You'll have to wait for it, though."

"Is there going to be a movie?"

"I hope so, but we haven't been contacted about it."

It continues like this, asking and answering questions and sometimes referring to specific pages in the book or the resources we've typed up. The students are alert and polite to us, and I almost feel bad that I wasn't like them back in high school. But, oh well. At least I did one thing right by dating John.

"How long have you guys been dating?"

"Eight years?" John looks at me for confirmation. "We kind of broke up when we went to college."

"If you count that, it would be four or five. But I don't count it." A few kids 'aww.' I press a hand to my breast pocket to feel the outline of the small box that is fortunately not visible above the top of the pocket. I don't know if I'll ever be prepared for what I'm going to do, and I don't know if it was the right choice to plan for today. What I do know is that I've known John Laurens for eight years and loved him my entire life, if not the John Laurens that has unruly hair and tired eyes then the idea of him, someone to hold and love and belong with. Other than that, I'll just wing it. But I think that knowledge is enough to get me on track.

"Did you guys mean for there to be so much fucking sexual tension between Willis and Kamren?" One girl asks before widening her eyes. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to swear."

John laughs it off as he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, it wasn't completely intentional, but we noticed that and let it happen."

The girl smiles, turns to her classmate, and gives him a high five. I watch John look at the students with pride and feel my thoughts turn to the box in my pocket. Now's as good a time as any.

"Thank you so much!" Mr. Barrett says, shaking our hands. "I guess we'll wrap up now. I'm sure the students are very appreciative that you've taken time away from your busy schedules to visit our classroom!"

"Just a moment," I interrupt. "Before we go, I'd like to pose a question…" I sink down to one knee on the floor. When John catches sight of me there, he glares.

John Laurens

I stare down at him kneeling on the floor. Fuck no. I will not let Alexander Hamilton steal my moment. Before he can do anything else, I grab him by the wrist.

"Get up, Hamilton," I say through gritted teeth. Frankly, I don't know why I'm angry. He doesn't know of my plans and maybe I didn't read his actions as well as I thought. But it doesn't matter now, because he's already on his feet wearing a crestfallen look. I look back toward the curious group of students with a smile.

"Okay… so thank you so much and now we'll be leaving," I rush through the sentence, and as a result of which, end up stumbling quite a lot over my own words.

To my surprise, he makes no comment even after we've fled the school. As we walk down the block my thoughts drift to the small box in my own pocket. I feel bad for the way I shot him down, but if he really was about to propose, there was no way I could have let him. I have my own plan for how this will go and I want every last detail to be perfect. I just hope Alexander hasn't changed his mind about wanting to marry me after I so blatantly told him not to ask. At least our visit was a success.

I am very proud of the book I wrote with Alexander. Midnight Pride took a fair amount of time and energy, but the end product was extremely satisfying, and in a way, it solidified our relationship. Somehow we managed to stay sane and in love after over a year of writing about each other's characters. Somehow I love him even more after spending so much time working with him I thought I would go crazy. So really, I can't let Alexander propose before I do. It's not like he loves me more or wants this more than I do.

The silence between us dissolves after seven minutes of walking when Alex starts laughing uncontrollably. I sneak a glance at him, doubled over and clutching his sides, and bite back a smile.

"What is it?" Alex is far too busy cackling to answer my question.

"Did you see their faces?" is all he says before he collapses back into his fit of hysteria.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they don't have a clue what they witnessed."

"They seemed disappointed," Alex says when he's finally gotten past his fit of laughter.

"So did you," I point out. When the words leave my mouth I immediately regret it. I don't want to have to explain myself and ruin my plans.

"And why wouldn't I be? I just got rejected by the love of my life."

"You dork." I kiss him in an attempt to change the subject. This was supposed to be a surprise

and not one he could take over. Thankfully, he doesn't fight me on this. When I pull away from him doesn't bring it up again.

"I'm just happy people read our book. And seemed to like it!" He declares.

"Yeah! We may have even gotten that one kid to ship Willis and Kamren. I feel like that shows emotional investment!" We round the corner of our block (I was surprised that the school was so close to our apartment) and Alex's hand finds mine. I'm getting more nervous by the second. Even though I know he won't say no, some part of me thinks everything will go wrong. I fish through my coat pocket for the set of keys that I just had replaced. So far, I have lost my set four times, and luckily each has been inside the apartment.

I check the clock mounted above the kitchen doorway. The face reads 3:56, significantly later than I thought.

"I'll make dinner - just go sit down or something," I instruct him.

"Alexander Hamilton does not comply with anyone's wishes for him to sit down," he says. So he's in one of his difficult moods.

"Hamilton, please," I say, not caring much to hide my exasperation. I bring him into another room and push him gently into an armchair. With that, I go to the kitchen to stress and try to cook an adequate dinner for my boyfriend. -

An hour later, the kitchen is a complete disaster. But I guess that's what happens when you try something new. I bring the food out the back porch before I return for Alexander. He's still seated where I put him. A book lays open on his lap and he's deep within whatever world is on the pages. The first time I say his name he doesn't hear me. Once I manage to get his attention, it doesn't take much more to get him to follow me through our apartment and to the scene I've set up outside. Besides the food placed carefully and presented neatly on our plates, I've placed a glass vase filled with scarlet roses. The rail confining us to our porch space has soft lights woven around the wood that would have looked significantly better in the dark.

"What's all this?" He asks, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips. I don't answer, because I'm sure he already knows.

"Before we eat…" I start. "I have a question." His face lights up before I've even posed the question. I fall onto one knee and bring the small wooden box from my breast pocket.

"Alexander Hamilton, will you marry me?" He nods and I can see the tears in his eyes.

"Well duh." He laughs and I slide the shimmering ring onto his finger and rise back onto two feet, where Alexander connects our lips in a passionate kiss. Everything has gone perfectly. I proposed; he said yes. I am engaged to the man I have fallen hopelessly in love with, and I couldn't be happier.


End file.
